Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck
by Lily Zen
Summary: Feral needs an infiltrator for a job in LA, and the only one she knows is a guy named Ghost, who's changed a lot since she saw him last. It's the start of a harrowing personal journey for both of them. Co-written with Alex Kade.
1. Chapter 1

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter One

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: This story takes place a few weeks after the events of About A Girl, which can be found as chapter five of the Feral series. Things you need to know are as follows…

1. During their first 'run together, Ghost and Feral were part of a team tasked with smuggling an experimental drug out of Horizon research labs. The drug was released into the air system. It's function was a top secret bioweapon designed to destabilize a population mentally. Basically, what it did was remove all the blocks and filters in a person's mind, unleashing all violent impulses, fears, hallucinations, and other behaviors in them. Ghost was infected and attacked Feral, but when his attempt to force himself on her resulted in retaliation the attack switched from something sexual in nature to outright homicidal mania. Feral was able to subdue him, but it resulted in issues being brought up for the both of them.

2. The events at Horizon were a catalyst for Ghost's suppressed issues. He became depressed, suicidal, an insomniac, and a drug abuser.

3. Ghost's traumatic past is not stuff for the weak-stomached. To summarize, as a boy he and his cousin were given to their uncle after their parents' deaths. The man was a pedophile and a sexual sadist, and tormented them for years before he was finally caught and jailed. Ghost's cousin was unable to cope with the trauma and committed suicide.

4. Just prior to the events of this story, Ghost received news that his uncle was being released from prison. His attempt to kill the man failed, and instead resulted in his own brutal beating and rape via magic.

All of this is explained in more detail in Alex's story, _Ghostly Reflections_. I'm trying to badger her into publishing them and _Chronicles of Switch_, but she's stubborn. Maybe if you guys badger her with PMs too, she'll listen.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun concepts aren't mine. Original characters belong to Alex and I.

* * *

Monkeywrenchers was Feral's version of Switch's tech bar, only the crowd that hung out there tended to be a little more rough-and-tumble than technically gifted. They were the gunslingers, the blades, the "actives" in any run; drivers, smugglers, pirates, killers, and people who blended in with the shadows. Monkeywrenchers had their fair share of them all. Running the whole thing was an old tech-savvy dwarf named Crawdaddy, or just Cray for short; if you were feeling particularly daring, you could try calling him Daddy.

Like the name implied, Crawdaddy was born and bred in the bayou, and his voice was thick with that lazy Cajun drawl. He had dark hair with a little reddish tint to it, though it was hardly ever visible underneath his bandanna. Feral only knew what color his hair was by looking at his long, Texas-style beard. Cray was proud of his beard, and it showed. It was always well-groomed and healthy-looking, and whenever he had a job for a particular 'runner he would slowly pull it through his hands.

He was doing just that as he was approaching Feral's table. She had her feet kicked up on the chair opposite her, and was picking at a basket of onion rings as a way to pass the time. Cray's scuffed, steel-toed motorcycle boots made heavy sounds on the old floor. Feral looked up long before he got to her table, and shifted her own booted feet onto the ground so he could take a seat. She eyed his beard curiously as it slid through his hands, and he smoothed it back into place.

"What's up?" she wanted to know.

Cray took a seat. "_Chat_, why you always in such a hurry?"

She shrugged a shoulder, sipped at her synthaholic beer, and purred, "Must be the shitty beer."

"But you keep comin' back!" he laughed, and lit up a cigarette, offered it to her, which she accepted, and then lit another one for himself. They were the hardcore, unfiltered kind, and Feral was a little shocked. She exhaled, feeling the buzz immediately.

"What is this?" she waved her hand with the cigarette perched between her fingers.

"That, _cherie_, is real, one-hundred percent genuine tobacco grown on my cousin's land, harvested at peak potential, and then dried naturally. It's organic," Cray replied, puffing out his chest with pride.

"Bullshit," Feral chuckled, and took another hit.

"Truth, girlie," he argued. "I buy papers and roll 'em myself."

Exhaling, the adept offered a conciliatory nod, and told him, "It's not bad."

"Not bad? This is what the Amerindians used to smoke, not that pre-packed shit they sell at the Stuffer Shack." Cray scoffed, and blew his smoke up toward the ceiling. "Kids these days." Raising an eyebrow, Feral wordlessly told Cray he'd better revise his statement. The dwarf grinned unapologetically. "To the point then," he chuckled, "I've got something right up your alley. You were the first person I thought of. Got a client who needs a little in 'n out action on the west coast."

_In 'n out_was Cray's way of saying it was a stealth job, and since there were typically two kinds that Feral did she asked for clarification. "Stab in the dark, or sneak and creep?"

"Sneak and creep, _bebe_," he laughed. "It's a low tech building, but security's pretty tight. Should be a challenge for you. Interested?"

Yeah. Yeah, she was.

* * *

Ghost was lying on the floor in the middle of his living room, his journals scattered all around him like some burglar had just torn through his place and tossed his shit everywhere while they were looking for something valuable. He knew exactly what order they went in, though, knew by the color of the leather or velvet or simple cardboard covers. He'd been reading them almost nonstop since he got back from the clinic, afraid to go to sleep, something still holding him back from following his cousin's example, probably the fact that he felt he still couldn't quite let go until Lonnie was burning in Hell.

The old entries fueled him, kept that fire going inside his mind while the drugs kept his body awake. He didn't want the kind that would help him sleep past the nightmares anymore. He didn't need it. Once Lonnie was gone he'd have the rest of forever to catch up on his sleep.

His eyes were glazed over as he stared up at the ceiling blowing out little smoke rings. The last book he'd just finished was some time after Lonnie went to prison. The entries were a mixture of him and Nate being genuinely happy for the first time since they'd started keeping the journals, and sort of lost and scared because they were just kids trying to figure out how to live normal lives after what they'd been through. Nate's entries always had a shadowed quality to them after that, up until the time he stopped writing in the books. Except that last entry. His last entry was clearer than he'd ever written before. That wouldn't be for another several books, though. The dark red, soft leather one.

Ghost's entries had gradually gotten lighter and lighter as the years went on, more and more normal sounding, and he'd always been more diligent in updating. _Chalk it up to the durability of youth._Or just a keen ability to shove everything in a nice little lockbox inside his head until a mutant virus/drug thing opened it up and turned him into his fucking uncle.

Images assaulted his mind of him grabbing at Feral's arms, then Lonnie turning him around and pinning him against the coffee table, then himself as Lonnie pulling off Nate's belt, then Feral screaming as he pushed himself into her, then his own stomach catching on fire in a mix of bullet-riddled pain and something even more intrusive and sickening than that.

Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled down the hall to his bathroom and threw up what little he'd had for lunch. The drugs didn't mix well with the mnemonic enhancer sometimes, blending memories and illusions like that even while he was awake. If he wasn't going to be gone soon, he'd think about getting that removed, too, but that surgery was a hell of a lot more invasive than removing the pheromone implants. He couldn't risk dying on the table while Lonnie was still out there somewhere. He had a demon to kill.

* * *

She went to L.A. alone, but told Madden where she was going and promised to check in every couple days so that if something happened, and she didn't check in, at least there would be _someone_who knew she was missing. Feral knew she couldn't do the job by herself, but she'd also need to be on site to do a little groundwork. There hadn't been a whole lot of details in the assignment other than "bust in here" and "steal this shit."

Since it was technically her job, and she was "team leader"-god help them all-it was her role to do all the pre-planning. Feral tended to be more hands-on than Red was. Mostly it was because she wasn't tech savvy. So she bought a wig, and skulked around taking pictures, learning the patterns at the temple until she could be reasonably assured of what she'd need to pull off the job.

The goal was to steal their precious artifact, an ancient statue of the Hindu goddess Kali. In her golden arms she held the sacred symbols, the weapons that signified her wrath, a dead man's head, a platter to catch his blood, a bowl of fire that never burned out, and a brazier. There was one palm left empty, facing outward, and within it was a ruby the size of an eyeball. The statue was a sacred object. It was said that if one prayed and left offerings at its feet that one's enemies would be struck down. It was also a source of protection to those that housed it. Since they weren't sure which of the sacred items actually held the power, or if it was the whole piece, the first thing she'd have to do was hire a mage to assense the statue.

The next problem came in the form of something unexpected: women weren't allowed in the temple, at least not in the places she needed to get to. When the temple doors closed at night, Kali was removed from the central prayer room, and placed somewhere within the devotees' living area. She couldn't get in there to find out where it was or what the security was like. Feral tried looking up the building plan, but that told her nothing except for the general layout, and since there always seemed to be devotees walking around, it would be impossible for her to sneak in.

She needed a spotter, an infiltrator; someone who'd blend in, and be able to get in and out without attracting a lot of attention. Somebody who could convince them that he was part of their little group. Sadly, only one name came to mind.

So once she'd verified the statue, indeed, was where the magic lay, Feral contacted Ghost. Well, actually, she contacted Red, who gave her Ghost's comm number, _then_ she contacted Ghost. When he didn't answer, Feral was forced to leave a message: "Hey, Ghost, it's Feral. I've got a job that could use somebody with your skills. It's small, and pretty easy, not like the Horizon debacle. If you're interested call me back at this number." From there, she had nothing left to do but wait.

* * *

When he got the message he listened to it in stunned silence. Then listened again. And again. Then just stared at the number for a long time. A _long_time. He was having trouble wrapping his brain around the fact that it was real and not some figment of his drug addled, sleep deprived mind. He kept blinking, but it still didn't go away.

Feral was asking for his help. Feral. Not Red. The girl he tried to rape actually _wanted_to work with him again. It didn't make sense. He wouldn't call Lonnie up out of the blue and ask for a magic lesson or something. Unless it was a ploy to lure him out so he could kill him. Maybe that's what this was. Maybe she decided she wanted to kill him, after all. If that was the case, her timing fucking sucked. He wasn't supposed to die until after he'd killed Lonnie.

What if this was her only chance, though? What if she needed to kill _him_as much as needed to kill Lonnie, slay her own demon before she could move on with her life? Who was he to deny her that type of freedom? The demons didn't get to make those types of decisions. It was their job to die at the hands of the righteous. Or at least die at the hands of other demons. That's all it would be when he struck down Lonnie, or would've been if Feral wasn't going to take him out first.

_Where? _he sent back via text, fully expecting to get a simple location that would become his gallows.

He dug his most recent journal out of the pile and simply wrote:

_I'm going to see my executioner. Looks like I don't have to do it myself, after all. I hope she makes it hurt. It'll make up for what I couldn't do to Lonnie._

* * *

Feral glanced at her comm, looking away momentarily from the adult film ordering section on the trideo. Since the thing went down with Red, she admitted she'd been a little more fixated on interpersonal relationships than usual. She stopped dating again, because that wasn't going to do the trick; she began avoiding Red because a little distance just might. She was determined to get over him, and step two in her foolproof plan was 'become sexually active again.' Starting out by dipping a toe into the raunchy waters was probably the best way to go about doing so, Teva thought, so maybe she'd order up a porno and feast her eyes on some badly acted fake orgasms.

_Oops, no. That's not gonna work._Now that her brain knew it was all fake, she was just going to sit there making fun of it the whole time. The illusion was ruined.

Ghost's reply was a simple text message: _Where?_

She gave him the address to the small restaurant across from her motel, and added, _10am tomorrow._ Why ten in the morning? Simple; she had plenty of time to get the statue. Why skip breakfast? Teva could kill two birds with one stone: her constantly hungry stomach, and briefing Ghost about the situation.

* * *

"The diner?"

Well, that was an incredibly public place to kill someone, especially right in the middle of the breakfast rush.

"Fuck, she's not gonna kill me," he realized as he scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the scruffiness of the beard he'd let grow unchecked since his last encounter with Lonnie. He'd need to shave that off. If Feral just wanted to confront him about shit...or maybe she really _did_ actually need him for job...he owed it to her to look at least a little presentable. Shit, he hadn't taken a job since Horizon. He hadn't done much of _anything_since Horizon except get high and drunk and shell out nuyen to the clinic once every few weeks.

Actually, he had to be running low by now. He'd need to have _something_to fund his going after Lonnie with. Maybe a job wasn't a bad idea.

But with Feral?

Maybe he could pull it off. If he made a move towards her like...like _that_ again, she'd kill him. No problem. And if he even _thought_about doing anything he'd have his own weapons at hand. He'd stop himself if she didn't get to him, first.

Decision made, he put away the bottle of synthahol he'd been nursing and began the process of cleaning himself up. He wanted to make himself look as close to how she remembered him as possible, because if she _did_still want to kill him he wanted her to believe she was taking out the demon, not the pathetic shell of himself that he'd gradually become. Kinda took the thrill out of the hunt when you got to the end and found out the lion was nothing but a sickly, weakened, walking corpse. He'd even go with just the stim patches to get him through the night, none of the heavy shit. That way his head would be clear when he talked to her.

Yep, he'd be the old Ghost. The cool, confident, kind of cocky, a little bit flirty - _no, not flirty, not with her_- put together infiltrator that he used to be. He could do this.

* * *

He felt his journal tucked into his inside breast pocket of his leather jacket, pressing up against his chest as he made his way into the diner. He'd added beneath his last entry before he left his apartment:

_Don't think I'm going down today, after all, but just in case, figured whoever had the honors of picking up the body might be interested in what went down. If someone does read this, Lonnie's info's in my comm. It'd be nice if you killed the bastard or maybe found someone else that's willing to. Guy like that shouldn't be out there fucking up other people's kids._

He saw Feral right away, sitting in a corner booth where the sun was coming through the window, lighting up her hair. She looked...

_"...pretty. You always were the pretty one, Brandon, even after all these years. It's been so long..."_

His knees buckled, and he had to grip the back of the empty chair beside him to keep himself from going down. It took several deep breaths to get himself under control, to keep the nausea at bay, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the hostess touched his arm.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he answered, pulling away from her as if her touch was burning him. He wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow that had appeared there, irritated at the shaking in his hand. Stuffing them both in his pockets where Feral wouldn't see, he sniffed, took another deep breath, and made his way over to her table.

"Hey," he said casually as he slipped into the opposite side of her booth, immediately turning his gaze to the menu. The whole eye contact thing didn't seem to want to happen just yet.

She'd seen him the second he walked in, had chosen this particular seat because of its optimal view of the entrance and proximity to the emergency exit near the bathrooms over her shoulder. Feral played it cool, pretending not to see his stumble, and stirred the spoon in her soycaf even though she always, _always_drank it black.

Ghost slid into the seat across from her, giving his back to the room without a second thought. That was interesting. Most 'runners she knew were paranoid to a fault, and would have at least shown some hesitance about taking a position that would leave them vulnerable to an attack.

Feral looked up at his casual salutation, and offered him a polite smile. "It's good to see you again..." she hesitated. Instinct had her wanting to use a name, but it occurred to Feral for the first time that she didn't know Ghost's name. She didn't even know his _alias'_ name. For prudence's sake, she refrained from using street names in public like this. There was never any way of knowing who you were or weren't within hearing range of. "You look..." Again, there was that little beat of silence. She didn't want to lie; he looked like crap, like he hadn't slept in weeks, and hadn't eaten a proper meal since before then. Oh, geezus. "You look like shit," Feral finally concluded harshly. "What the hell, man? If you're sick or something, you can just say so. I'm not gonna lose my cool over it."

Well, her polite...ish...behavior confirmed it. She really, honestly did want him for a job. Odd.

"No, I'm not...not sick." _Physically_.

He moved to run a hand through his hair, saw the shaking again, and dropped it back down into his lap. She probably caught that. That was okay. She wouldn't be afraid of him if she saw how easy it would be to take him down now, how he wouldn't be able to overpower her...again.

The nightmare images flashed through his vision, him taking her down to the ground, then Lonnie, and himself, and Nate, back to her, hearing Lonnie's voice in the background asking him if it felt good.

He gasped and blinked away the memories, then turned to a waitress who was passing by. He instinctively reached out to grab her arm, but jerked back before he actually touched her. "Hey, can I get a...a shot of...fuck, whatever you have. I need...just need a shot, just one."

Fuck, he was royally fucking up acting like his old self. What made him think he could fucking pull this off to begin with?

The waitress gave him a skeptical look, the one that said, _It's ten in the morning, you fucking drunk,_but she nodded and went off towards the bar. Ghost kept his eyes downcast as he turned back to talk to Feral.

"I'm not, uh...shit. I can do the job, okay? I'm okay to do the job. I _need_ to do the job. Just tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it, and I'll stay out of your way for everything else."

"You're _okay_?" she repeated incredulously. Teva gestured toward the waitress, then at him. "You just ordered a _shot... at ten in the morning_. Dudah, you are so far from 'okay' that it's painful to watch." Sighing, she propped her elbow on the table, and rested her head against her index and middle fingers, rubbing her temple while she eyed Ghost. "I don't know, man. Maybe I'd better find somebody else. I don't want you detoxing in the middle of daily prayers."

Glancing away toward the approaching waitress, Feral drawled, "Hope you don't mind, but I ordered ahead of time." The woman slid a plate in front of her that was covered in fake breakfast foods, and set a glass in front of Ghost.

"Sorry, hun, we don't have any of the good stuff. That's synth-bourbon. Hope that'll do," she stated insincerely.

While the waitress was still there, Feral gave Ghost a critical examination of his person, and told him, "Order whatever you want. I'll buy. You look like you could use a burger or two. You've lost weight. The emaciated look is great on the runway, but not so much up close and personal."

"Don't...don't do that." He picked up the glass, hesitated for a second with the edge against his lips, then tipped it back. He'd already blown the act, anyway. There was no point in trying to keep it up. "Don't be nice to me. You want me to do a job, give me the details. I can buy my own breakfast. If not, there's no point in me sticking around."

The waitress glanced back and forth between the two impatiently. "Look, I've got other custom-"

"Then go," Ghost snapped at her. "Shit, I'll probably be gone soon, anyway."

She took a calming breath and said very curtly, "I'll be back in a couple minutes to see if you want something."

Slouching down in his seat, he ran his finger around the edge of the shot glass and mumbled a little, "Fine," as she walked away, still refusing to make eye contact with Feral.

Feral sneered just a little. What the hell had happened to him? This was not the guy she remembered meeting. For one thing, his scent was all wrong. With a start, she realized he'd had his implants removed. Flicking her eyes toward the ceiling, she huffed a little in exasperation. "Alright, be a shithead," she drawled. "Also, maybe next time you could tell the waitress the intimate details of why we're here? I'm sure you've piqued her curiosity with the mention of a job." The unspoken 'get it together' was there in her waspish tone.

She used the side of her fork to carve her eggs up, took a bite, and then set down her fork again to speak. "There's a temple here dedicated to worship of the Hindu goddess Kali," Feral began, voice quiet just in case people were listening in, "My client wants the temple's prized statue. Normally that wouldn't be a problem for me. The place is low tech-I'd get in and out just fine on my own. The problem is that the order is restricted to men. I can't even get in the public part of the temple. At night the monks move the statue into the residential quarters; that's the part I need intel on. So...how's your monkishness?"

Waiting for his response, she went back to eating. After one bite though, she just couldn't resist the snide comment trembling on the tip of her tongue. "You're gonna have to watch the drinking though. From what I can see, the monks are teetotalers."

A monk? He couldn't help it. He started laughing at the notion of _him_ playing a monk, someone who was supposed to be "pure," a holy man, one of sound mind and spirit. Losing count of how many times he'd been to the clinic for suicidal or otherwise idiotic incidents resulting in his very near death didn't add up to sound mind _or_spirit.

"I know the place," he stated, still chuckling. Despite the humor in it, he nodded his head and briefly glanced up at her eyes for the first time since he'd walked in. "Yeah, I can do it. That _is_my job, right? Just one big game of pretend."

A furtive look out the window had the smile dropping right off his face. There, right across the street, walking at a clipped pace like he had something important to do-

_"Did you miss this, Brandon? I bet you did. I bet you secretly begged for someone like me to come and give you more. Maybe you even indulged in a little, yourself? I bet you did just that, picked out a nice, ripe little weakling of your own...God, you still cry like you did. That's not fair, you know. You're making me all hot. Too bad I have somewhere to be, otherwise this would be more physical, more pleasurable for _me_. I can certainly say that I missed it. Ah well, I'll have to find someone else to have my fun with later. You just enjoy the rest of my little spell. Call it a gift. Not many people can say they died with the kind of pleasure I'm giving you right now. I'm almost envious."_

He was up and over the back of the booth in a second, running towards the door, hand already moving towards the hilt of his hidden blade. If he was fast enough Lonnie wouldn't have time to defend himself. The old man thought Brandon was dead, wouldn't be expecting an attack right there in the middle of the day where everyone could see. It was the perfect opportunity.

_Where the fuck is he?_

In those few seconds it took to get out the door he'd lost sight of his target. It didn't matter. He'd seen the direction Lonnie had been walking in, probably just turned the corner at the end of the block. He could still catch him. He could still finish this.

Without even looking, Ghost stepped off the curb into the street, his only focus on killing the guy who had destroyed Nate's soul...and his. Lonnie had destroyed _his_, too.

Teva was _about_to shoot off another snarky comment when in a split second everything about Ghost's demeanor changed. Then the fucker just took off!

"What-?" she shouted, half-rising from her seat as Ghost booked out the door. Feral ran after him. She didn't know exactly why, but something compelled her to follow. She wasn't a nosy woman under normal circumstances, not unless Teva was getting paid to insert herself in other people's business. Maybe it was boredom or a need for distraction, maybe it was curiosity or guilt; whatever it was, it drove her out of the restaurant without paying.

The waitress yelled behind her, but Teva was impossible to catch, and with her comm on invisible, they couldn't even get a name to call the cops with.

Ghost was stepping out into the street, and about to be barreled over by a car.

Reaching out, Feral snagged him by the wrist, and yanked, swinging him out of traffic as the driver laid on the horn, missing him by a narrow margin. "Are you crazy!" she shouted, slugging him in the arm. "Look both ways before you cross the street! It's pretty fuckin' elementary! What the hell?"

Ghost ignored her for the time being, looking frantically at the wall of cars that was blocking him from getting to Lonnie. Each second that passed was another second that his target got further and further away. He was right there. Right _fucking _there, but Ghost had been too fucking slow to catch him.

"Fuck!" he yelled, and without warning hurled the knife into the nearby light post, the blade embedding itself all the way up to the hilt. He turned his anger on Feral. "Why did you stop me? You think a fucking car could take me out? I _tried_ that once, and I'm still fucking here! I would've been fine! Now he's gone because of you! He was right fucking there, and I fucking missed him! I fucking...I..._fuck!_"

Breathing heavily, he paced back and forth a couple times in agitation, then simply dropped down to his knees on the sidewalk and hung his head as the anger and adrenaline slowly trickled away, leaving him with that familiar dead feeling inside.

"I _have_to kill him," he murmured. "It has to be me. I can't...I can't sleep until I finish it, and then, then I can let go." He turned to look over his shoulder back at Feral, his eyes revealing the tortured little boy that Lonnie had created all those years ago. "Why didn't you let me go? You, of all people...why didn't you...?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I have to go."

He needed a hit of something, anything, whatever he could find that could just...take it all away...

He didn't realize that he'd babbled that bit out loud in a low, breathless murmur.

Feral felt some fission of something that felt a whole lot like concern zing down her spine. She wasn't a cruel person, not normally, and seeing Ghost again had confirmed one thing for her: she had put the events of Horizon behind her. So much had happened since then, so many other people had tried to kill her. It just wasn't worth holding a grudge. Hell, she'd forgiven her crazy sister for trying to off her, why should this man be exempt? It wasn't like anything had truly come of it. Teva had done what she did best, and taken care of herself (she was no princess needing rescue, and truthfully, she'd never expected one anyway).

Behind the concern came anger, which was kind of like her default setting. How dare he show up all out of sorts, and make her feel bad for him? And what the fuck was with the rude dine 'n dash? And geezus, how fucking strung out was he?

"You need a hit, huh?" she shouted. "Okay." Then with a little shrug, Feral drew back her fist and punched him hard right in the face. "How's that?" Teva screamed, oblivious to the on-lookers of their little street-side drama. "Feeling better? 'Cause I'm starting to! Now pull yourself together, emo, and tell me what the fuck's going on!"

The hit sent him the rest of the way to the ground, and as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees and dabbed at the blood on his lip, he began to laugh. "There it is," he said with a smile. This was more like it, what he'd been waiting for. Getting to his feet, he locked eyes with Feral, _really_ looked at her, and raised his arms to the side in an inviting shrug. "Is that it? Come on, _Teva_, I know you've got more than that. I remember. Don't you? Don't you remember the last time I called you by name?"

He flashed on a moment when he was still a kid, too exhausted to cry anymore as he sat still, allowing his uncle to heal him. Lonnie had his hands on him - not in _that_way, but in an oddly soothing manner - patching him up, making the pain disappear. His voice was soft, gentle, almost hesitant.

_"You liked it, didn't you, Brandon?"_

"You liked it, didn't you, Teva?"

He took a step towards her, and blinked back to Lonnie taking a step towards Nate who was on his knees, crying and begging to be left alone. Brandon, as young and frightened as he was, snapped at seeing his role model reduced to that state. He'd rushed Lonnie, beating him with his small fists, demanding that he left his older cousin alone. Lonnie had laughed at him and grabbed at his arms, dragging him towards the attic stairs.

_"You want another go, Brandon? I'll make it extra fun this time._"

"You want another go, Teva? I'll make it extra fun this time."

His eyes burned and he faltered on his next step, dropping back down to the cement. He spit out more blood, and then he was suddenly lying on the ground in front of his uncle; his small, fragile, ravished body weak and dying, in desperate need of the healing magic. Lonnie told him that he needed to earn it, pulled him up to his knees in front of him, and demanded a different kind of pleasure. The man had Brandon's blood all over him, making him sick at the sight, but he had to do it. He had to do it or Lonnie would let him die. He couldn't die and leave Nate all alone with this monster.

_"Come on, Brandon, give it a little taste. I bet you'll like it. _That's_ a good boy. Very, _very_ good, Brandon."_

"Come on, Teva, give it a little taste. I bet you'll like it," he said shakily, choking on the last words as he showed her the blood on his fingertips. That was it, he'd had enough. Bending over, he vomited up the little bit of synth bourbon, and through his continuing dry heaves he got out the rest of the line. "That's a...that's a good boy. Very...very...good, Brandon."

Drugs, alcohol, sleep deprivation, stress, pain, everything collided together and swirled around him, and it became too much. Collapsing the rest of the way to the ground, he rolled over onto his back and blinked through blurry vision up at the sky. He expected to black out, but despite everything, the inviting darkness still didn't come. For some stupid reason, even as worn down and broken as he was, sleep refused to take him.

As Ghost spoke, his words were like water on the flames of her rage. She sizzled and stuttered out with nothing but plumes of smoke remaining. Teva couldn't hold onto them. They drifted away, and left her with nothing but charred wood and ashes in her hands. That was no defense against the growing horror within her. She stepped back without meaning to. Feral never backed down from a fight, but this time she did, feeling small in the wake of what was clearly some personal torment, an F5 tornado ripping apart Ghost's world, and it had all started with the 'run at Horizon.

They were all victims underneath their bravado, their words of armor, and smiles like weapons. Every one of them had suffered there, and left pieces of themselves behind.

Swallowing hard, she watched Ghost empty the contents of his stomach, muttering between retching, "That's a...that's a good boy. Very...very...good, Brandon." Teva bit her lip and looked away, fighting back tears. She'd seen victims of sexual abuse before-hell, she might have even been one herself, though she was reluctant to label herself as such-but this was extreme even compared to the shit she'd observed in others. Then again, what the fuck did she know about how a victim was supposed to react? Her way of dealing with anything was to play escape and evade with her emotions until they gave up and faded away.

He let out another breathy laugh. "This probably means I failed the interview," he ventured, not even sure if Feral was still there anymore. He couldn't hear much of anything beyond the blood rushing through his ears, the cries of two young boys, and the distant sound of a perverted man's moans of pleasure.

Teva couldn't help it; she started laughing. Not because the situation was funny or because she was happy. It was a sad laugh, a dry, miserable chuckle that said wordlessly that this world was fucked up, too fucked up for her emotionally repressed ass to deal with. Leaning over with her hands on her knees, she could barely breathe. Tears began to roll out of her eyes despite the fact that she was still gasping, choking on dark, dry humor and bits of irony that lodged themselves in her throat like dry food she hadn't chewed enough.

When the hysterical giggles began to pass, she straightened up, chest heaving for oxygen, and tipped her face up to the sky, wiping her cheeks with her hands.

The decision was sudden. She didn't remember even thinking about it. One minute she was laughing and crying, and inwardly cursing the world, and the next she was reaching out, grasping Ghost's hand in hers, still wet with tears, and tugging ever so slightly. In a rough voice still highlighted with hysteria, Teva ordered quietly but firmly, "Get up, you pathetic, melodramatic basket-case."

"Okay," he answered, still laughing slightly, and let her pull him to his feet. Drained, he leaned on her for support, then realized people were hovering around staring at them. He held up a hand, spinning around slightly to address them all, probably looking like a drunkard on his unsteady legs as he gripped Feral's shoulder with the other hand to keep himself from falling. That made it even funnier because he wasn't even drunk today. _Or_high. This was just him at his finest. "It's okay! Nothing to see here! Move along, folks! We. are. good." He spotted his knife still stuck in the post. "Oh, I should probably, should probably get that..."

Letting go of Feral, he stumbled over to the post and fell against it, gripping the handle of the knife. "It's okay," he huffed quietly as he tried to wriggle his weapon free of the wood, still sort of talking to the general public even though they'd already started moving away, the drama done, nothing more to see really that brought some excitement to their otherwise dull lives. "Just gotta, gotta get this free. Not gonna hurt anyone with it." Gritting his teeth, a small measure of desperation leaked into his voice as he struggled with the blade. "Except for, except for Lon- Come _on_, fucking piece of shit!" It held firm, and he resorted to punching at the wood a couple times, splitting his knuckles open before he just leaned against it in defeat. "I should probably just go home now," he muttered to no one in particular.

_You are a nutcase. _Feral thought it, but she didn't say it, her tongue stilled by a swell of pity.

Instead she sighed, and put her hand on his side, indicating he should move over with a little pressure. A blade was removed from somewhere underneath her leather bomber jacket, and Feral pushed the tip into the wood right next to the other blade, widening the hole where Ghost's knife was buried. She wiggled it a little, and felt the two blades scraping against each other. It was a disconcerting thing, like the proverbial nails on a chalkboard (not that most schools had chalkboards anymore), and she was glad to remove her knife when she'd judged she had enough room.

Putting the blade back into its sheath, Feral braced one foot flat on the pole, gripped the hilt with both of her hands and pulled. Slowly, it began to give way. She wiggled the blade, widening the internal pathway, pushing away from the pole with her body weight until it gave way with a noise unlike any other. Feral almost fell on her ass, but braced her leg that had been on the pole behind her in a fighter's stance, ceasing her descent.

She handed the knife over to Ghost, thinking smugly, 'Ha, I'm stronger than you.' It wasn't intentional on her part; it had just slipped into being without her permission. Internal commentary was funny like that. "Here. Now do you think we could have a conversation without the histrionics, ye olde tortured soul?"

Absently slipping the knife back into its sheath, he looked off down the street in the direction where home was at for a second, then turned towards the corner where he'd last seen Lonnie. Finally he gave her a nod, once again shifting his eyes around so he wasn't looking directly at her. "Yeah, probably. Maybe. I don't, don't really know, honestly." He huffed out a little laugh.

"I haven't really been myself lately. Or, I don't know, maybe I've been more myself than ever...or something." Placing one hand on his head, he abruptly spun around and pointed back in the direction where they'd come from. "Should we go back to...no, they probably won't let us back in there. I wouldn't let me back in if I were them. I know another place not too far from here. It's got better food, and no bitchy waitresses. I can, I can buy...if you want. I probably owe you. I mean, not that breakfast makes up for it, I know that, but it's something, right? And I can give you some names. I know some guys that can help with your little...statue, monk...issue. Guys that aren't, won't..." He shook his head and started walking backwards as he spoke, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "It's this way, if you want to come."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and just kept walking, sticking close to the buildings so he could catch himself if his legs gave out again. Maybe he _did_ need something besides booze and drugs and the occasional soy burger in his system. And _god_ he needed some fucking sleep.

* * *

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Two

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. The second chapter is a little shorter, but not really any cheerier. Sorry.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

Teva trailed after Ghost's retreating back without another word. She really was hungry, and he did kind of owe her since she'd totally abandoned her breakfast two bites in to chase after his retarded ass...which was kind of cute, she noted with an almost detached air. It wasn't anything personal. She was just walking behind an attractive guy, and thought the word 'ass,' so it was only natural to glance down and get the lay of the land, so to speak. Of course, the fact that Ghost was clearly in the midst of some kind of mental breakdown pretty much put the kibosh on any romantical thought processes before they'd even formed. Plus, there was still the whole lingering 'sup, I'mma choke you to death, 'kay?' incident. That was kind of a downer. Of course, that wasn't to say that a little autoerotic asphyxiation couldn't be fun, but Teva really thought you needed an expert for that sort of play. All too quickly it could go from fun and games to passing out or worse.

Obviously her brain needed to stop being so tangential and random. With a couple long strides, she matched Ghost's pace, walking on his opposite side rather than behind him. Feral lit up a smoke, and managed to make it a few blocks in silence before her curiosity overwhelmed her. "So who were you chasing?"

Ghost's step faltered only slightly, and he danced his fingers along the brick wall beside him in a nervous fashion as he walked.

"That was, uh-"

_"Brandon Wilson, Nathaniel Blake, in accordance to the final will and testimony of Veronica S. Wilson, Stanley R. Wilson, Gale H. Blake, and Kyle A. Blake, the court now grants full custody to Mr. Lonnie A. Blake, brother of Kyle A. Blake and Veronica S. Wilson. Congratulations, Mr. Blake. Take good care of these boys."_

"Thank you, your honor; I plan on doing just that. We're going to have a very happy home together."

"My uncle," he answered darkly. "I'm going to kill him."

In the next half second he veered off and pulled the door open to the diner he had led them to. Stepping back, he held it for her to pass through, flashing a small, inviting smile. "After you?"

Stepping inside, Feral waited for Ghost to follow after her, digesting that information. Uncle, hey? Judging from what she'd just observed, she would confidently wager a bet that Uncle liked to play a little Bad Touch with Baby Ghost.

A waitress showed them to a table, but told Feral quietly that she'd have to put out her cigarette as the place was entirely non-smoking. With an apologetic smile that bled over with insincerity, she dropped it in the water glass the waitress had just brought over.

"All these technological advances and we still can't make a decent air filter," she laughed. Feral started playing with the coffee creamers and jelly packets, building some sort of structure that might have been a tiny, roofless house. Unthinkingly, she ripped open a packet of sweetener and dumped it in her mouth. "So," she mumbled as she dissolved the granules on her tongue, "Gonna kill your uncle, hey? That's cool. Got a plan, crazycakes?"

Reaching over, Feral snapped up a menu, perusing the choices quickly. "What's good here?" she asked lightly, wiggling the menu.

"I _had_ a plan. It didn't-" He squeezed his eyes shut against the oncoming flashback, willing it away. "It didn't work out so hot. He, uh, fucking prick, he thinks he killed me. Didn't realize the Grim Reaper apparently doesn't want me yet. I should change my name, right? Can't be a ghost if you can't die." Laughing at that, he glanced over to a table at the other side of the room for a brief second, then back to Feral. He leaned in closer so he could talk quieter. "The plan is when I see him, I go after him, and I _keep_going after him until he's dead. Plain and simple." Shooting another glance at the side table, he tapped his finger on the menu as he began to get up. "Blueberry waffles. Everything's real, even the whipped cream. Give me just a second, I'll be right back."

Sliding back out of the booth, he made his way over to the group of guys he'd been glancing at. They greeted each other warmly enough, looking like nothing more than old friends who just happened to be eating breakfast at the same place at the same time. Mostly that was accurate; Ghost had no way of knowing for sure that they'd be there that day, and he did honestly frequent that particular diner because he genuinely liked the food, but he had hoped, and hope had paid off. The exchange was as clean and flawless as usual: as he hand-slapped, fist bumped, and offered small, two-fingered salutes to all the guys, one of them slipped a small packet into his palm. In return, he dumped some nuyen into the dealer's account right there on the spot, then stood around and laughed with them a few extra minutes mostly just making small talk.

"That your girl?" one of them asked, tilting his head over to where Feral was sitting.

"No," Ghost answered with unyielding certainty as he glared at all of them, "and she won't be any of yours, either, so back the fuck off."

"Whoa, man, whoa, no problem. I was just asking," the guy answered. "Maybe you should go keep her company, though, 'fore she gets bored and leaves your ass here with us."

Without another word he made his way back to his table just in time for the waitress to fill their coffee cups. Casually, he reached across to grab a couple packs of sugar, hiding the drug powder packet between the two sugars. He ripped them all open at once, dumping all three into his cup.

He was having more flashbacks today than usual. Maybe it was Feral; maybe it was because he hadn't had anything but stim patches since she'd called him the night before. Either way, seeing Lonnie had wound him up too much. He needed to cut the edge a little, just a little, and this was just the stuff to do the trick. He couldn't think straight with everything going on. That's all this was. Just something to clear his head. Harmless, really. He _just_ needed to clear his head.

The waitress came back while Ghost was over by his friends (yeah, right-she saw that hand-off; did he think she was stupid?), and she ordered without waiting for him to come back. Besides, junkies tended not to eat a lot of meals anyway. Jeez, and what a shame that was. Ghost had been a good 'runner, at least from what she could tell. Witnessing the downward spiral was hard. Another quality professional burnt out by the job.

Feral bit her lip, looking away while Ghost emptied sugar packets in his soycaf. She glanced back; wondering out loud in what she hoped was a casual, neutral tone, "Uppers or downers?" Changing her mind, Teva shook her head sharply. "Sorry, none of my business."

"So, I've been thinking," Teva smiled, sipping at her coffee, "Your plan really sucks. The whole 'I'm just going to keep on coming' thing. Obviously, it didn't work the first time. You know what the definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. Think like a 'runner, not like some punk-ass with a vendetta. If you want dear old Uncle Bad Touch-" It just slipped out! She grimaced, and smacked her own forehead, then thought 'oh well, nothing to be done for it now.' With a huffed breath, she continued on in a quieter voice, "If you want your guy dead, you should be planning it like a 'run, like a hit. That's a tried and true method that gets results. Not this running off into the street half-cocked bullshit." Glancing up sheepishly, Feral stated in conclusion, "No offense."

He looked at her for several long seconds, studying her, then sat back and shook his head. "No," he said, taking a sip of his soycaf. "You are not 'walking me through this' or helping me with it or getting involved in any way. This _is_ a vendetta, my own, mine and Nate's, but he jumped the gun a little bit early - or, didn't jump it all, actually - so it's down to me. You didn't come here to help me. You came here to get _my_ help, to do _your_ thing, and that has nothing to do with any of this, so_ don't help_. Unless 'helping' is trailing along behind to finish the job, cut the chain, 'eradicate the species' or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Anything else is you being nice, and I very clearly remember telling you that last night I saw you not to _ever_ forgive me, even though I got drunk off my ass after that and didn't stop since, forgot most of everything else, but I still remember _that_. Being nice, helping me with my 'the bad man touched me wrong' psycho drama bullshit falls under the umbrella of forgiving, and _that's_against the rules. So no, you either stay out of it, or kill me when it's over, otherwise you don't get to help."

He took another long swallow of his drug-laced drink, mindless of the hot liquid burning his tongue and throat.

"It's both, by the way," he answered her originally withdrawn question. "A little pick-me-up to keep me awake, a little knock-me-down to keep me from feeling too good about myself. Healthy balance, right? And I wasn't hiding it from you; I was hiding it from the rest of _them_." He twirled his finger in the air, signifying all the happily clueless diners. "Can't hide _anything_ from_ you_, right? You see it all! Except..." Leaning in again, he dropped his voice down very, very low, "the inside of a certain temple. Take the names or don't, eat your breakfast, then you don't ever have to see my face again, okay? Just forget I ever existed, or take me out. Either way, it shouldn't be that hard. We hardly know each other."

Shrugging at the simple truth of his last statement, he sat back and chugged down the rest of his soycaf. This day wasn't going at all like he'd planned. He was going to have to scratch more stuff out of his journal.

Teva sneered at him. "Help you? Why the fuck would I _help_ you? You're on a mission to die; I don't _do_ suicide-'runs. Like you've so sweetly pointed out, I'm very perceptive; I'm a survivor. You have to be smart growing up where I did. You learn who's trouble, and who's_ in_trouble." She leaned in close over the table, meeting his physical challenge by invading his space in return. "As far as you're concerned, you are already as good as dead. That's not somebody I'd want to work with, not ever; maybe rescue, but not work with." Giggling, Feral added, "Like a damsel. You'd make an adorable damsel, and I'm discovering I do have this protector complex."

With a dismissive wave, she sat back. "You're an idiot, and you're going to die without achieving your vengeance because you're too clouded with emotions and chemicals to think straight. Your uncle is going to go on doing what he does because you're too weak to put the proper amount of effort into eliminating him. He's going to kill you, and then he's going to rape another child in celebration, another _pretty boy_just...like...you."

The waitress chose that moment to return with her food, and asked if Ghost wanted anything as well. Teva paid no attention to the exchange, putting her napkin in her lap, and eating at a sedate pace that was none the less intensely focused.

This was stupid. Ghost was absolutely right; she hardly knew the guy, so why was she sticking her nose where it clearly wasn't appreciated? Teva kind of wanted to smack herself again just for being extra dumb. What was the first lesson she learned in the slums? 'Mind your own fucking business.' This wasn't her business, but god, that look in his eye suddenly reminded her of Tamsin, and all that her twin sister had been through...and maybe it reminded her of herself a little bit too.

At first he didn't care about her scolding rant. What did it matter? She could insult him all she wanted, it didn't make a damn bit of difference. Not like he had any pride left to injure.

But then she kept going...

"...rape another child in celebration, another _pretty boy_just...like...you."

Each word stung him; bit into his stomach like those bullets had...like that magic...

_"You always were the pretty one, Brandon..."_

His chest was tightening up. The waitress came and asked him a question. He politely said no, at least he thought he did. Whatever he said, it made her go away, made her leave him alone.

Alone.

Left alone to die where he'd been dragged off to a back corner of the park, off the path, out of the light, bleeding from the bullet wounds but hurting more from the magic. Even after Lonnie walked away, leaving him alone, the magic stayed there, kept right on going, all the way through the disgustingly warm climax. He'd screamed, then, he'd screamed but no one had heard him, no one came to rescue the damsel, the pretty little boy. He'd had to walk out on his own, drag his ass off the cold ground, stumble home, wait for the Wagon to come get him or maybe wind up being too late that time. God, how he'd wished they'd be late. That wish was right there in his book, scrawled out on the page with his blood smeared all over it. Just like the old books, the green one with the spirals, or the black velvet one, or the orange one with the colorful smiley faces. It was worse, though. It was worse because he _wasn't_ a little boy. He was an adult, a grown man, a fucking _'runnner,_ for god's sake! It shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have happened again. Not when he'd been mostly level-headed, when he'd been clean, when he should've been prepared. He'd failed when he was _on the ball_...and it pushed him the rest of the way off his rocker.

She was completely right. He'd fail again. Lonnie would laugh; probably have his way with him one more time before he made certain he was dead. Maybe fuck him for real this time. In fact, it was a guarantee. He'd probably fuck his still-warm corpse once it was over too. Like he kept saying, Lonnie always did get off on the blood.

There was no point to any of this.

He wasn't sure if he was breathing. He didn't care.

He promised Feral breakfast. He'd keep it.

Rolling some money into the diner's account, enough for something extra if she wanted it, enough to cover the tip, he quietly pulled out his book and placed it on the table - last in the series, but she'd get the gist if she was interested - and just sort of...mentally checked out. Was it rude? Yeah. But at least he wasn't blowing half his head off right in front of everyone. He still had enough respect for the living not to do _that._

Teva continued eating silently, only pausing to lift an eyebrow slightly when Ghost placed a book on the table. She kept doing what she was doing, but her eyes repeatedly wandered back to the book again and again. They were her kryptonite; Ghost had no way of knowing that, so she found it incredibly interesting that he would offer up the one thing she really couldn't say no to.

Putting down her fork, she sipped at the lukewarm coffee with a meager grimace, which then smoothed out as she set the cup back down. Lifting the book up slightly, Feral asked, "Is this for me?" Forging ahead without a reply, she flipped open the cover. "I love books, you know. Absolutely adore them. The smell of the paper, the glue used on the binding. The old ones are the best, carrying little traces of everyone whose hands had ever touched the covers."

At first she had assumed it was a hand-written contact list, something of that nature, but further inspection proved that it was actually a personal diary, hand-written in small, neat print with a distinct slant. Teva read quickly, swallowed convulsively, and worked hard at keeping her face blank. "Smells like blood," she murmured under her breath.

Attempting to remain casual, Feral lifted her soycaf to her lips again, temporarily forgetting that it was disgustingly cool. She swallowed it anyway, because she needed something to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. Much to her surprise, Teva began to speak again, flipping the page. "I have a sister, you know. A twin. When we were younger there was this guy. He was older than us by a couple years. He used to hang around our apartment building, and when we'd come out he'd walk with us, talk to us. Most of the time Tamsin and I came and went together, but sometimes we'd go alone, particularly as we got older. I had different friends than she did...age, drifting apart, yadda yadda. Sometimes he would talk to us alone. A couple times he tried to get me to go places with him and hang out, but he was sketchy. You know that skitter up your spine or the tingle in the back of your brain that tells you you're in danger? Yeah, I always kind of had that feeling around him."

Another sip; another bite. She took the time to chew and swallow, reading a little further ahead. "Anyway, one day my sister was coming home from her friend's house, and he followed her. She liked to take this shortcut from her friend's neighborhood into ours that took her across a field behind a factory that had shut down. They started fighting. He raped her. It broke her mind. That's...a very dangerous thing to do to a magician. She killed him, horribly. A lot of things happened after that; she ran away, was declared dead in a fire, and got amnesia from said fire... Then one day she just showed up out of the blue, working for a team of 'runners that was trying to kill me and my friends. Drama, drama. Long story short, we got to catching up. Yeah, she's batshit crazy, but at least she's still alive. She didn't let that one thing be the defining moment for who she was.

"She actually said something really smart to me: some people take the bad things that happen in their lives and make it the foundation that they build their futures on, other people may give it a brick, a little part of what makes them _them_, but they don't let it dictate the rest of their lives." Dog-earing the page she was on, Teva flipped the cover closed, lowering it slightly to see if Ghost was paying the slightest bit of attention to her. She sighed. "Brandon, you're letting him win. Giving up like this? It's the final victory. It is what sadistic monsters like him live for. I'm truly sorry for the things that you and Nate were forced to endure, but you're here now. You can still fight him. You can still win. You can't save Nate, and you can't undo what happened to either of you, but you can be somebody else's hero."

Blinking back the ache behind her eyes, she snagged his untouched water glass-hers still had a cigarette butt floating in it, that shoddy waitress-and drank half of it in one go, eyes focused on some point in the distance. She was thinking about Brandon, and the scared little boy that leaked all over those pages, and about Tamsin, whose abuse had driven her mad, and about grown men who could only get it up when their partner was unwilling.

She remembered a dimly lit nightclub, and the target's slimy hand in hers. The private rooms all smelled like sweat and sex and vanilla perfume. It was cloying and uncomfortable. The temperature was cranked high so that the dancers didn't complain while running around in their skimpy outfits. She danced, and he got handsy. Under normal circumstances, Feral would have knocked his fucking head off for that. There was a little voice in her ear though crying for more time. He forced her to her knees. The floor was hard, and cold. He grabbed her hair, long strands of black back then, streaked with violet on the underside and flipped just right so it showed. Her scalp was sensitive, and his tugging hurt as he wound his fingers through, grasping her head, pushing her down. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd drawled, and her cred balance went up with a very generous tip. She'd choked on his come, and her team had rushed in with their guns while she threw up in the corner until she felt light and hollowed out.

It wasn't the same as what he'd been through. Not even close. But Teva thought she understood a little of what he must be feeling. She suppressed a wolfish grin as she recalled the Texan's screams as she'd carved him up joint by joint. Once she was done with his fingers, those fucking fingers that held her all the way down, her nose touching his pubic bone, it wasn't even about the information anymore. He'd already given them everything they needed. After that it was just about revenge.

Clearing her throat, Teva set down the book. "I'll take those numbers now, if you have them."

He was staring off into space, looking entirely catatonic to anyone who was looking, but the words were getting through. He could shut out everything else, the entire rest of the world, but he couldn't shut out her. He couldn't shut out her any more than he could turn off the visions and the nightmares. She was a part of them, her face intermingled with the images of himself and Nate and Lonnie, all on a constant loop swirling round and round inside his head. It had been that face, that voice, that struggle she had won that had been the catalyst to it all.

And it was her voice now that was telling him to fight it.

And requesting something from him in return.

Names, numbers, faces, talents - she needed people. He could give her that much. With the blink of his eyes he sent the information right to her comm, everything on anyone he thought could be helpful. She could have her pick. That was the easy part. The hard part?

"I can't be someone else's hero," he whispered, his lips moving but his eyes still fixed on a point of nothing. "Not like this. Not...when I can't close my eyes without seeing Nate crying, or hear myself screaming, or feel Lonnie...and then there's you..." Every so slowly, his eyes shifted over to hers, his pupils not focusing, but it was at least a subtle attempt to break himself out. "I'm tired, Teva...so _unbelievably_ tired. I just want it all to stop long enough for me to sleep...that's all...I just want to sleep..." Trailing his vision down to the book resting under her hand, it dawned on him that maybe he _did_ want someone else to know. Maybe on some level it was important that somebody else knew his story, that it mattered to somebody else what he and Nate had gone through, that Lonnie's death was a necessity in ridding the world of one more evil, that when Brandon was finally gone he wouldn't _just_be a ghost.

"I have more of those," he said just a little louder, a hint of invitation in his tone and a trace pleading quality in his eyes. "If you wanted to...when you're done with your thing. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

Scanning the new information, Feral thought about the offer. Was it a wise one? Not particularly. She'd be a front row witness to the demons that had broken this man. Was she going to accept it anyway? Yes. Her curiosity was insatiable, and even though she had a sick feeling what she would find in the other books, she felt compelled to read them. Besides, she had time. Truthfully, she had nothing _but_time. Her sister was gone again, the man she wanted didn't want her, at least not enough to try (and if that wasn't a blow to the ego nothing else would be), and she didn't want to burden her friends with the kind of mood she was in recently. Better to move and keep moving, keep working as a way to distract herself from the pain she was dealing with. It was hard to let go of a dream, even one she'd never let herself utter out loud.

Ghost was like her in some ways, surrounded by people but constantly alone. Nobody really _knew_ him, just like nobody really_ knew_her. Maybe, just maybe her knowledge, her willingness to be with him, the man that had attacked her, would offer him some kind of absolution. The hope that she could convince him to live was still there, slender, reedy, cautious, but standing strong.

She found herself nodding. "Give me a few hours. I've got to sift through this data, and make an offer. Then I'll come to you, and read..." _And maybe you'll sleep for a few hours if there's someone keeping watch._"Maybe you could cool it on the suicide attempts while I'm here though? I don't really wanna be the unlucky sod who finds your cold corpse." With a little smile, Teva stood up, checking the register to see if their bill was paid. It was. Leaning over, she kissed Ghost's cheek, and whispered, "I don't have nightmares about you." Most nights, she amended mentally. "That doesn't even make my top ten list. I'm sorry to tell you, but I forgave you before I ever showed back up in L.A. You're a good person, Brandon. One instance on a highly volatile, experimental drug doesn't change that." With that, Teva pulled away, and headed for the door, flicking her fingers in a lazy wave over her shoulder. "I'll be messaging you later. I fully expect a prompt response, and an address to meet you at."

Maybe she could salvage this. Maybe somehow Teva the Emotional Blunderer could be this man's hero. It was a fragile hope, and one she tried not to voice even to herself because if she failed it would break her heart.

* * *

"I don't have nightmares about you."

He sucked in a small, shuddering breath at that, feeling that burn in his eyes again. And she _did_forgive him. He hadn't wanted it, demanded not to have that, but having heard the words out loud...

"Thank you," he whispered to the air after she'd gone. Ducking his head, he came fully back to himself and continued to sit there for a long time, kind of just wondering if what he'd just done had been the right thing. It hadn't really been an intentional, conscious thought, his little plea for help. The thought scared him now, his apprehension building at the notion that someone else would be privy to all his darkest secrets. Why would he even offer that?

Simple. He was still human, despite his vision of himself as a growing demon; he was still human and therefore trembled at the notion of dying alone. He just wanted to leave his mark, make an impression on _someone_, because then maybe it wouldn't seem like his entire existence had been such a complete and utter waste.

As an afterthought, he pulled out his pen and opened the book, noting the page she had marked. She was a fast reader. She hadn't gotten to the ones after Horizon yet, not to the one with the blood all over it. What would she think of that one? It wasn't detailed, didn't paint out any vivid imagery with words, didn't even have complete sentences. It was just a jumble of words from a dying man's hand, but it was enough. It was enough that she'd know what happened. It was enough to be ashamed of, maybe enough for her to be disgusted with his weakness. And everything after that was pure emotional, drug-addled nonsense. That was enough to be ashamed of too.

Sighing, he flipped to the last page and yet again scratched out his last entry, his message to whoever might find his body. Beneath that he wrote:

_Nevermind. Turns out I'll be around for a while longer. I'm going to kill Lonnie myself, but it might take me a little bit. Someone informed me I was being an idiot in how I was going about this. I need to think smarter. I need to get clean again. It's gonna make me sick. Withdrawals are a bitch. Just hoping I can get by without the sleep. Can't help that one._

He turned down an offer for more drugs as he left the diner and went straight home. His place was a mess...or at least the front room was. He couldn't remember the last time he used his bedroom except as a storage space for his clothing. Didn't need it if he wasn't sleeping.

Tidying up everything else, he saved the books for last. One by one, he placed them in order in a little patterned pathway. The first was laid down on the floor beside the door, a little note on it that read:

_Welcome to Oz, the darker rendition. Follow the colorful brick road. You know that story, right? Hope I'm not just making a reference that no one gets anymore. I like books too._

This first one's mostly Nate's writing. I was still learning. Don't laugh at my handwriting. Okay, you can laugh some. I took up a lot of page space. It's how little kids write! Anyway, we didn't start off talking too much about what was going on, not in the "real" sense, anyway. The books were supposed to be our fun little escape, stupid little kid stories mostly where the knights slay the dragons and all that sappy shit. Guess we were doing the whole metaphor thing before we even realized what that was.

We get a little more detailed as we get older. Sorry.

The path continued for a little ways, bending around the coffee table. He left another note on a navy blue one with a dog on the cover:

_Spoiler! We put Lonnie in prison in this one. Triumph over evil, blah, blah, blah. Going from an attic out into the real world had some...interesting effects. On both of us. Nate writes less and less from here, then stops for a while. But hey, I look like I'm getting better!_

He smiled as he continued along and set down the pink book, the path now turning around the corner of the couch. Nate had got it for him as a joke; said pink was an important color of the rainbow. It wound up being oddly appropriate for that time of his life:

_Another spoiler. This one's important. A girl showed me what it was supposed to be like. I was scared to death, but she made it okay. Kind of a big turning point for me. You caught a little glimpse of what became of that back at the airport. Clearly I decided I enjoyed it._

Then there was the red book. On that one he simply wrote:

_Hope you didn't get too attached to Nate._

He ended the little road of journals at his kitchen, dropping the latest one on the counter. The note attached to that one read:

_Now you're all caught up. Help yourself to whatever. Stay as long as you want. You have my number if you want to talk. I'll answer if I can. If I can't, I'll call back. Just didn't want you to feel obligated to take care of my sick ass while I'm coming down off the drugs. I've been using pretty heavy for a while. It's not gonna be pretty. Good luck on your 'run._

Nodding to himself, he packed up some of his shit, took a last look around his place to make sure everything was perfect, and slipped out the door.

* * *

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Three

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: The depressing content is slowly beginning to dissipate. You're welcome.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

Feral ended up hiring a guy called Skeeter. He was funny and likable, and most importantly he'd blend in. It was also to her benefit that he didn't seem to realize she wasn't telling him everything. Skeeter was a subcontractor, not a partner. All she told him was that she needed to know everything that happened to that statue once it was out of the public eye. As far as Skeeter knew, it was just a statue. He had no idea of its actual value, nor how much of a tidy profit she was going to make by stealing it. She bargained his fee down to barely a tenth of what she was going to earn.

Maybe it was better that Ghost had declined. Teva didn't know if she'd have had the heart to scalp him so much on a fair cut.

Sometimes she really was the stone cold bitch everyone thought she was...and it felt good to let her loose.

It was going to take Skeeter a few days to gain the monks' trust and gather all the intel she'd requested. That left Teva with a whole lot of downtime on her hands, and not much to do with it. She sent a message off to Ghost asking for his address, and input the reply in her nav.

When she arrived there it became apparent that Ghost had flown the coop, so to speak. Teva read his notes, and checked the last journal for any other hints as to where he'd gone. The information was pleasing. He was going to get clean, and go after his demon. Of course, that was no guarantee that he'd decided to live past that moment.

Plopping down on the sofa with the first book, she began to read, shooting off a quick message to Ghost:_ If you really don't mind that I'm here, I'll check out of my motel to save some cash. Good luck with your detox. Can I call you Shakes?_

* * *

Ghost had finally settled on a place to stay when he'd gotten her message. Shakes. Yeah, he'd get there by tomorrow night for sure, probably sooner. He wasn't even going with the stim patches tonight.

_Like I said, stay as long as you want. Mi casa es su casa. Left a box of cigarettes in the drawer in my night stand. Take whatever you need. Oh, and probably should've mentioned not to worry about the blood on the pages in some of the books. Gotta give Lonnie credit for something - guy was at least clean. Not that you're the squeamish type, but if it bothers you there's gloves under the sink in the kitchen. The orange one with the smileys was a bad year..._

* * *

The place he'd chosen was a shithole; a rundown, dirty, scummy motel in the old East Hollywood district. It was the type of place where dealers made trades, where hookers earned their living, stupid kids threw drunken parties without risk of asshole neighbors calling the cops, and where a person could curl up on the floor and vomit out their insides, shaking violently in their sweat-drenched clothes, screaming and crying when the cramps got too bad, and no one would give a shit enough to call an ambulance.

That was exactly where he was at the moment.

He'd been wrong in his journal. Withdrawals didn't _suck_. At least, not this time. When he'd gotten clean the first time he'd gone after Lonnie it'd been different. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but he'd gotten through it on his own. That was before he'd gone completely off the deep end, when he was more of a drunk and less of a drug addict, when he was still in control of what he allowed other people to convince him to put into his body. Shit, he'd already started cutting back _before_he went cold turkey. Losing an entire week of his life was a good indicator that maybe he was heading down the wrong road. He hadn't imagined at the time that he'd be tearing down that same road at reckless speeds a short time later.

No, these withdrawals didn't just suck. They were torture in their purest form made even worse by the fact that he still couldn't sleep, that with his increasing sickness the frequency and vividness of his hallucinations was also increasing. The stupid thing was that he hadn't even been off the drugs and alcohol for that long, only a couple days. It was supposed to get worse. How the hell could it get any worse than this? He already had a fever, and through the shaking he could feel his heart working ridiculously hard to get the blood through his veins, sometimes tripping over itself in the process. This couldn't be right, could it?

_I swear to fucking Christ if I die trying to get _off_ the drugs..._

Not knowing who else to call he dialed Feral's comm, the only person he knew who wouldn't "help him" by shooting him up with something. He hoped she wasn't already on her 'run. That would kind of suck for him.

When he spoke, he could hardly get the words out he was shaking so bad. "I think s-something's...something's wrong..._Shit. _Tried to...tried to c-cut it cold. Not d-doing so...so good. Think...might need s-some...some help."

* * *

A couple days had passed in droll fashion. Teva, for the most part, spent the time reading, and crying. She cried a lot. It was sometimes the only way she could keep reading, to let out some of the sorrow that accumulated as she devoured the words of a boy named Brandon and his cousin, Nate. At one point, she'd had to go out grocery shopping-Ghost was really low on food, but had a decent sized stash of soycaf-and she took to running a lot around the neighborhood. Honestly, it was the most relaxation she'd had in awhile. It was driving her insane minute by monotonous minute.

Not that she wanted things to go wrong. Only it was such a sonorous routine when things constantly went right. Teva knew she was an adrenaline junkie, as addicted to the rush she got from danger as Ghost was to...well, it seemed anything at all would do for him. She just wasn't sure if she'd always been a thrill-seeker, or if it was some trait that had developed over time. It was sort of a chicken and the egg question. Did she become a 'runner because she was a whore for the excitement, or did she turn into an adrenaline junkie because of 'running? An interesting dilemma and one she couldn't discern the answer to.

Teva was really starting to hate this impromptu vacation. It was leaving her with too much time for introspective thought.

She flipped the cover of the red book closed, put it back in its place, and picked up the next one in line. There were a few entries after Nate's death, and then a huge gap in time between the next entry. That was about the time that she got Ghost's call for help. Teva was up before she'd even thought twice. "Alright, I'm on my way. Where are you? What are your symptoms?" She was tearing frantically through the bag she'd tossed on Brandon's bed, gathering up her medical supplies. Then, inspired, she asked, "Do you have any medical supplies on hand here or there?"

* * *

"N-not here," he answered, and had to wait as a particularly violent shudder passed through his whole body. His teeth clenched tight as short, guttural noises came out along with his sporadic, shaky breaths. It took him a few seconds before he could speak again. "Cupboard...in the b-bathroom. Symptoms?" He couldn't help the little chuckle that came out. "Name it, I p-prob'ly got it. S-sending the address."

He sent the info, and had to wait again as his body moved in a way that was beyond his control. When he could think clearly again it occurred to him that this was probably more than just the shakes. He was having miniature seizures.

"L-listen...if I don't..._fuck_...you'll kill him for me, right? Please? Tell...tell me you'll kill him."

* * *

"Absolutely," Teva growled, a deadly promise in that single word. She swept the contents of the bathroom cabinet into her bag, and ran for the front door. "Not only will I kill him, but I will cut him apart into tiny square inch pieces in the process. I'll even rip out his intestines, all two hundred feet, and wear them like a feather boa."

She pounded down the stairs, asking, "Do you have a vehicle here? Shit, fuck it, I'll get a cab. They'll know the way better, and if they try to jag around, I'll just shoot them. Keep talking so I know you're not dead yet, okay?"

On the sidewalk, Teva flagged a taxi, and gave the driver the address. "I'll tip you fifty nuyen if you get me there in ten minutes or less." The driver nodded, and pushed the gas pedal down to the floor.

* * *

"Intestine f-feather boa? That's...that's fucking sexy." Was he allowed to say that to her? To a girl he tried to rape? Ah well, too late to do anything about it now. He might be dead in a few minutes if his heart rate kept climbing, anyway. "Take it...Lonnie's not y-you're favorite character, huh? Should have a...heh, Switch would g-give him a...super villain name, right? Prob'ly call him s-something...something like..."

His muscles seized up tight, the cramping causing him to cry out. This was stupid, so _stupid._Why was he so fucking disinclined to ask for help? He should've gone to a detox clinic or something, somewhere with a trained medical staff that would've made sure he could come down safely without sending his whole system into shock.

But detox clinics led to therapists, and therapists led to blowing off half your head. He didn't need to shell out a bunch of nuyen to some hack with a psych degree just to wind up killing himself. He was doing a fantastic job with that for free.

He laughed again, turning his face so his forehead was pressing partially into the carpet. He wished it was tile. Tile would've been cooler. He was so fucking _hot._

"I lost t-track of...how many times...I should be d-dead. Bet the...c-cats are...jealous. Nine lives my ass."

Why was he being so giddy about all this? Was it because he might actually die this time? Because he had somebody to talk to for once _while_ he was dying? Or was it the thought that somebody other than the Wagon was on their way to try to save him? Somebody _actually_ wanted him to live, not for the nuyen, not because it was a job, but just for the simple desire to see him continue to exist. It was an odd sensation, made even odder by the fact that it was _her_. Every time he talked to her she seemed to tip his world in a different direction. He kind of needed that, apparently.

"You didn't...c-color in the lines as a kid...did you?"

Cats to coloring? That probably came out as a pretty abrupt topic change to her. She probably thought he was losing it. He probably was. Or had. That's why he was where he was, wasn't it? Lying on the floor in a shitty motel room?

God, he was a mess. Shit, she was going to walk in there and her poor senses were going to get assaulted by his sweat and tears and the little bile he'd puked up. That wasn't very fair.

"Should meet you...outside," he mumbled, wondering if the physical effort of doing so would make his heart burst out of his chest. Didn't hurt to try, though, right?

* * *

Feral laughed tensely as Brandon tried joking with her. Then he suggested moving outside. "Don't you move your ass one fucking inch," she snapped as the car careened around a corner, and she slid over, almost knocking her head on the window. "Stay where you are. Oh, Jesus, can't this thing go any_ faster_?"

In response, the speed crept even higher, as the cabbie flipped her off. She returned the gesture with equal ferocity.

"You know, I never did much coloring as a kid. I had to be carefully supervised with any sort of art supply, particularly when I was younger. I had a tendency to want to color everywhere but on the paper," she chuckled. "I guess you could say that's pretty indicative of the type of person I was going to grow up to be. Truthfully, I'd have rather been outside. Tamsin was the artistic one; honestly, everybody sort of thought of Tamsin as 'the good twin.' If there's a quality associated with femininity, Tamsin had it. I was always more the rough-and-tumble tomboyish type."

The car screeched to a halt, throwing her face first into the back of the passenger seat. Teva dumped a shit-ton of cred into the car's register, and leapt out of the back seat. "Which room?" she spun in a circle, looking at the three buildings and their rows of private entries. Her heart was beating too hard, that familiar battle-induced rush whipping through her veins. She gripped the bag in her hands tighter as the cab drove off.

* * *

He hadn't been able to move anyway. His attempt resulted in another seizure, or he just happened to have another one _while _he'd tried to move. Either way, it left him too exhausted to try again.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm so...gross right now. Not even...not even Lonnie would t-touch me like...like this. Not even w-with his m-magic. Oh, you didn't...didn't get that far, did you? Spoiler!" He chuckled again. It hurt his chest.

Had she asked him something before he started rambling?

Oh, right, room. Did that mean she was close? What room was he in?

"Room number...room n-...uh...one...one-o-three? Yeah...that's, that s-sounds right." It was so hard to think, especially with the Siren song calling to him. Funny, the one time he thought he could actually get to sleep without the nightmares and he didn't want to. Not when she was nearby. He needed to keep talking.

Teva was running before he'd even finished speaking. _101, 102...103..._She body-slammed the door, popping the cheap lock off, and running through.

"How's your sister th-the good one? Thought you said...you said she tried...no, t-there was- right. Fires, amnesia, batshit c-crazy, don't piss off crazy mag... I know what h-happens when you...when you piss off crazy magicians. 'L-look at you. You're s-still pretty. Y-you always were the p-pretty one, Brandon, even after...after all these y-years.' Not right..."

He heard the door crash open behind him.

"Not so pretty right now...am I?" he nearly whispered.

She heard him both aloud, and in her ear, the mechanical voice following a split second after his real one. Turning it off, Teva slid to her knees next to Brandon, and joked in a voice thick with anxiety, "Sure you are. You're a gorgeous, sweaty, smelly mess. Detox looks good on you." She started digging through her bag, yanking out an extensive first aid kit from which she extracted a thermometer. "Now say 'ah'," Feral demanded, wiggling the thermometer enticingly.

He eyed the thermometer for a second, and then shook his head. "Seizures...I don't...d-don't want to bite it." His hand shaking uncontrollably, he reached up and weakly gripped her wrist, bringing her hand down to his face. She could have pulled away easily but he didn't feel any resistance, which he was grateful for. Her skin felt unbelievably cool against his. "See? Hot. Don't...don't need a th-th-thermom...fuck it. Bigger problem's...here..." Reluctantly, he shifted her hand down to his chest, then let go of his grip so he could wrap his arms around his stomach. He was going to be sick again, but Christ, what the fuck was he going to throw up? There was nothing fucking left.

Teva felt Brandon's hot, clammy forehead, and breathed deeply, feeling some like panic settle in her chest, but definitely was not panic because if she called it 'panic' she was going to start fucking panicking hardcore. She ran a search on the nets for withdrawal treatments, but Ghost started gagging before she could read it all. "Shit," she hissed, and scrambled for a wastebasket, getting it under his chin in just the right amount of time.

"Okay, okay..." she sighed, rubbing his back absently while scanning the nets-articles. "Alright, let's see...I don't have any anticonvulsants, but I do have lorazepam, lucky for you. I need them when I go on planes. Did I tell you that I have an intense phobia of planes?" Teva dug through her med kit, producing one of the prescription patches. "How much do you weigh?" she asked, rolling his shirtsleeve up to apply the patch. "One-eighty-ish? These doses are calibrated for me, so I may have to double-dose you. We'll monitor your condition, and if it doesn't improve in the next half hour, I'll slap another patch on you." Sticking the patch on his skin, she rubbed it to make it stay in place.

Reading further ahead, Teva murmured to herself, "May have to bust out the sedatives too..." Louder, and directly to Brandon, the adept ordered, "You're gonna have to keep me informed of how you're feeling. This is my first time." Her fingers sought his pulse, and she kept an eye on her comm clock, counting the beats. Too fast, it was still too fast...

Even as she spoke her face faded away, replaced by someone else's, and he found himself back in his attic tucked away against the back wall by the small window. Nate had picked that spot out for him, the furthest place from the stairs and the closest place to a view of freedom.

_"Brandon? You feeling okay?"_

"...feel s-sick, Nate. Don't let him...don't let him touch me today..._please_."

His cousin scooted in beside him on the cot and wrapped one arm around his shoulders.

_"Shhhh, it's okay. Nobody touches you but me, okay? You don't have to cry. Everything's gonna be fine, I promise."_

"What're you gonna do?"

He looked at Nate with teary eyes full of fear for himself and for his cousin.

_"If he comes today, I'll take your turn. You did it for me last time. We'll be even."_

He shook his head and tried to sit up, but the older boy wouldn't let him, kept insisting that he needed to stay down.

"No, Nate, no, you don't...don't have to. I changed my m-mind. I can do it. I'm f-fine. Let me up!"

When Brandon started fighting to sit up at first she almost let him, so stunned was she by the change in behavior, the sudden determination in him. Then his heartbeat sped up further, his pulse beating against her fingertips like frantic bird's wings. "No, sweetheart, no, you've got to stay down, relax..." This wasn't working fast enough, and she was getting scared. She was scared that his heart was going to explode in his chest, and he'd die right in her arms.

A person dying wasn't new to Teva. She regularly took assassination jobs. She was good at them; quick and clean. This would be messy and slow, and Teva didn't think she could handle that.

She reached for the sedative patch, using her teeth to rip the wrapper, and extracting it one handed. Rolling up his opposite sleeve, Teva slapped it on that clear patch of skin, and stroked his dark, sweaty hair back from his forehead. "You're going to be just fine. Just...take a little nap. You'll be okay," Teva repeated soothingly, though the mantra was more for her than Ghost at that point.

His body began to feel heavy. Blinking sluggishly, he let out a long, tired breath as Nate faded away and Teva reappeared, telling him he could sleep, reassuring him that it'd be okay. She'd done something; he could feel it invading his system just like the rest of the drugs he'd grown so accustomed to. He panicked for just a moment, remembering what had happened the previous times he'd taken sleeping aides. They'd knocked him out alright, and then they kept him from escaping the nightmares, held him under the water while he drowned. Somehow, though, this was different. He found himself relaxing as Teva's words floated over him, coating him in promises of protection. Not even realizing he was doing it, he rolled back onto his side and curled against her leg.

"Don't leave me, okay?" he whispered, and for the first time since Horizon, felt secure in letting himself drift off to what would hopefully be a dreamless sleep.

"I won't," Teva promised.

It was a process that took days, and they were the most harrowing ones of her life as well as his. She moved him up to the bed eventually, and set up a little puke station nearby for when he woke up enough to be ill.

Teva wedged a chair underneath the doorknob that no longer locked, and kept the chain on. She opened the window, and aired out the room, and bribed housekeeping into letting her use their supplies to clean up. The maid, Rose Marie, evidently thought she was some nutso _gringa_.

During this time Brandon was more helpless than she'd ever been as a child. She helped him eat, and kept him hydrated with fluids when he was lucid enough to do so. He had to be assisted to get to the bathroom, and when he was there she had to stop him from trying to pee standing up. "Oh hell no," Teva snapped the first time he attempted such a daring feat of coordination, "You can barely see, much less aim. Sit your ass down."

Sometimes he talked in his sleep or during the in-betweens when the sedatives faded just enough, but she couldn't give him another dose.

It was a long time before she felt comfortable with trying to sleep-she lived on stim patches and soycaf that she stole by the handful from the maid's cart for the first few days. Occasionally, she'd leave the meds go a little longer than usual to assess Brandon's state of withdrawal. If he started to shake or his heartbeat picked up too much, she went back to dosing him.

At one point Teva put him in the tub with his boxers on, and bathed him. The smells in the room were giving her blinding headaches and making her nauseous, or maybe it was that she was running on empty and trying to keep going a little longer until she died on the side of the road like somebody's old car. Whatever the reason, Ghost got a bath, and smelled a little better, and she changed his boxers to a fresh pair since the others were wet, shoved his arms in a t-shirt, and made him sit in the shitty armchair while she changed the bed-linens.

Finally, he started showing signs of improvement, and she let herself curl up on the strip of mattress that Brandon wasn't occupying, sleeping for the first time in nearly four days.

That was, as luck would have it, the time that Skeeter called to say he'd gotten all the information she needed. Afraid to leave, Teva arranged a meet at the motel, thinking she'd just step outside to make the trade, and then...

She was asleep again before she finished her thought.

* * *

The days passed as a blur on his consciousness, nothing really sinking into his memory except a minute of pain there, a flash of a nightmare there, a fleeting moment where he thought gentle hands had been on his shoulder while he puked, someone scolding him for something (it wasn't Lonnie), someone taking care of him (it wasn't Nate).

As he tried to get his fuzzy head to latch onto anything more than that, it occurred to him that he was warm and comfortable, felt completely safe as a body pressed against chest, his arm wrapped tight around her-

_Her?_

He opened his eyes to discover himself clinging to Feral like a child cuddling his favorite teddy bear.

"Oh, Jesus!" he spat out in a shouting hiss, pulling himself from her so fast that he rolled off the other side of the bed and hit the floor. He would've gotten up and ran if he'd had the strength, but the most he could manage in his weakened state was to scoot himself across the ground until his back hit the wall behind him.

Teva groaned at the sudden amount of noise and movement. The shitty mattress transmitted everything, shaking her awake as Ghost rolled away. She sat up, glaring at him. She had been in the middle of a really awesome dream, something that she couldn't quite remember anymore as it faded away, except that she still felt warm and kind of happy. Maybe she'd been sun-tanning on a beach?

"What did I do? What did I do?" he asked frantically, trying to remember. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Feral, I'm so sorry."

He'd done it again. He'd let himself sleep, and he'd done it again _to the same fucking girl_.

"You didn't do anything," she snapped. "Do I look ravished? Fucking A, no. This bitch hasn't seen any action in I'm-not-gonna-try-and-say-how-long-'cause-I-have-to-do-math-to-come-up-with-the-number."

As he rambled apology after apology, his eyes shifted around the room looking for something, _anything_ nearby that he could use to kill the fucking demon with. It needed to die.

Teva scooted off the mattress, directing Brandon's attention to her fully dressed state. Fuck, she even still had her shoes on.

Crouching in front of him, Feral grabbed his cheeks, forced him to look at her. "Trust me, dude, we are so cool it's like Iceland up in here. I mean, I stayed awake as long as I could, but eventually even _I _have to sleep. So are we cool? Can I make you drink more electrolyte balancing beverages now? Nod for yes. Notice I'm not giving you an option for no." She shot him a tired, quirky grin.

His eyes flicked up and down her body, not in a creepy, leery way, but just so he could confirm what she was saying, what he was seeing. He let the tension flow out as some semblance of sense returned to him, and he nodded his head that Feral still had cupped in her hands.

"Sorry," he said again quietly, but this time apologizing for his outburst. "I was...I had my arm..." Running a hand through his hair, he let out one of his _I can't believe what an idiot I am_ chuckles. "Thought I went all Jekyll and Hyde on you again. How long was I out?"

Dropping her hold on him, Feral stood and walked to the crappy, two-seater table where she'd spread out her medical supplies, and grabbed a little purple packet. "No Jekyll and Hyde action, I swear. Hell, if you'd have been able to get it up with as many drugs I had coursing through your veins, I'd have been impressed." She chuckled, and grabbed a covered cup with a straw sticking out of it. It had a sunny, cartoonish depiction on it of the shore and a skyline, and said in big, bold cursive "Welcome to Los Angeles!" Heading for the bathroom, Teva disappeared around the corner for a second. She chuckled to herself while she dumped the powdered contents of the package into the cup and filled it nearly to the brim with water. "Jekyll and Hyde..." she smothered a louder laugh, shaking her head. "Who does he think he is, Super Cock?"

When she returned, Teva had the cap on the adult-sippy, and was shaking the contents to mix it up. "Here," the adept stated, holding it out towards Ghost. "It tastes kinda like cough syrup, but in a surprisingly pleasant way...or maybe I just like cough syrup." Shrugging nonchalantly, Feral plopped back down on the bed. "And in answer to your question, you've been out for four days. Counting the couple you were here on your own-which I hope you realize in hindsight was a monumentally bad idea, but I figured you needed to have your moment of typical male stupidity-it's been almost a week. The worst of your withdrawal should be past."

She rubbed her forehead as a knock on the door rang out. "And that would be my date. Hold on!" Feral shouted, pushing herself up with more exhaustion than she recalled having after a particularly tough 'run, and heading for the bag she'd brought with her.

_A date?_

Clearly he missed something while he'd been out...for a week...

_Second week of my life lost to drugs. Should probably stop doing that. Oh wait, I am!_

He smirked to himself as he brought the straw up to his lips, his hands trembling slightly. It wasn't from the withdrawal seizures this time though. It was just pure weakness, his body fatigued from the sickness and lack of proper nourishment. That thought was what kept him from grimacing too badly as he sipped at the drink mixture, putting much-needed nutrients back into his system. He _didn't_particularly like cough syrup.

"Hey," he called out as she made her way to the door. When he had her attention he flashed a _very_apologetic, but very sincere smile. "Thank you."

He wanted to say so much more, but what could he possibly say to express how much it meant to him that she'd stayed with him through his sickness, kept him safe, willed him to live? The girl he thought for sure would kill him had not only saved him, but had volunteered herself to be both his rock and his lighthouse on the dark, treacherous shore. How could he possibly repay her for that?

He'd think of something. Before she left him for good, to go back to her life that didn't include babysitting drug addicts, he'd find some way to make it up to her.

Feral rolled up the wad of bills in her hand, and moved the chair out of the way to open the door, pausing long enough to shoot Ghost a little smile paired with a jaunty, two-fingered salute. Stepping through, she met Skeeter out on the patio.

Skeeter was tall, and a little on the lanky side. At their previous meeting, he'd had short, sandy blond hair, and a tan on his face and arms from some sort of outdoor activity. Now he was bald, but smiling, leaning against the crappy railing that separated the building's doors from the parking lot. He leered, and said, "You looked better before."

"I'm trying a new style out. The I-Don't-Give-A-Shit," Feral drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you have my intel or not?"

"I've got it," he replied easily. "Do you have my money?"

In lieu of a verbal response, Feral opened her fist, letting the bills peek out, but closed it fast when he made a move toward her. "Intel first."

Skeeter shook his head wryly, and leaned back, crossing his arms in blatant imitation of her stance. "You know, I've been thinking...this is an awful lot of trouble to go to for a statue, so I did some research of my own."

"Of course you did," Feral sighed, dropping her arms and surreptitiously widening her stance. She rubbed her temple. "Look, I've had a rough couple of days. I'm not really in the mood for-"

"A statue, hey? For an art collector?" Skeeter's words trampled over hers, and he laughed harshly. "That _magical artifact_is worth a lot more than what you're paying me, chickie. Now either you're the worst negotiator on the planet and getting paid shit, or you're the sneakiest bitch I ever met." The stealth 'runner straightened up, taking a step toward her.

Feral stepped toward him as well, meeting his challenge. She had to stare up at him this close, which admittedly wasn't as intimidating as glaring down her nose at him, but it got the point across. "Skeeter, we negotiated a fair amount for the services you provided. You're a subcontractor, not a partner. You were to perform in a limited capacity. You've fulfilled your end of the bargain, and I'll fill mine."

Shaking his head, Skeeter stepped a little closer. "Don't think so, sweetheart. Price went up. You want what I've got, it's going to cost you 25k, otherwise...well, I've got enough to do this job all by myself now."

Feral's answer was a single, bitter bark of a laugh. "Not a chance."

Later on, Teva would replay the following moments over and over in her head. She was never quite sure who struck first. He moved, she reacted, and the next thing she knew she was getting kicked back through the motel door, sliding to a stop on the carpeting.

"Oh, no. You do not want to go there," she growled as Skeeter charged through the door. She used her fist cradled around the roll of bills to punch him in the gut. He doubled over, and kicked out her knee, sending her crashing to the ground with a little yelp of pain.

Alarm, then confusion, then an instinctual need to react flashed through him in a heartbeat. Adrenaline and the overwhelming need to protect consumed him, driving his weakened body at the attacker. He hit the man at his midsection in a partial tackle, partial fall, sending them both back out the door and over the rail into the parking lot. They fell apart in a heap, the wind temporarily knocked out of..._Skeeter?_...and what little energy Ghost had now pretty much depleted after his dash.

"Really?" Feral screeched as Ghost and Skeeter went barreling out the door. What did that stupid fucker think he was gonna do? Puke on the guy 'til he caved in submission? List nobly from side to side, and hope the pathetic look on his face won sympathy from Skeeter?

"Skeeter? What the fuck?" he groaned as he tried and failed to push himself back up.

"Ghost?" Skeeter coughed as he stumbled up to his feet. "Is that bitch with you?"

Ghost managed to get himself up to his hands and knees and practically growled, "Yeah, she's with me, and if you touch her again I'll kill you."

The other man shrugged casually. "Oh, well, since you say so..." His words were punctuated by a hard kick into Ghosts ribs, flipping him onto his back, and then Skeeter was on him. He didn't have the strength to fight back, his only option was just keeping his arms up so Skeeter's fists didn't pummel his face. That left his midsection completely exposed, and the man took advantage of that.

Ghost actually found himself smiling through it though. Feral had put so much hard work into trying to get his ass healthy, and now here Skeeter was ruining it. She was going to kill the little fucker herself.

She went running out after them just in time to witness Ghost getting his ass handed to him in the parking lot. _Motherfucker!_Teva did not just waste four days of her life on getting that asshole back in shape to watch him die now!

She jumped, getting one foot on the railing to use to get even higher, and landed on Skeeter's back, arms around his neck.

He stumbled away, trying to yank her off of him. Skeeter got a fistful of hair and tugged, but whatever, she had the advantage still, hoisting herself up with one arm and her legs clamped up on his ribs. She started punching him viciously, curving her arm around and going for the kidneys. "How you like it, bitch?" Feral shouted in his ear, and Mike Tyson'd his ear, jumping off of him with the sound of his screams still ringing in her ears. She took the chunk of cartilage out from between her teeth, and waved it, grinning fiercely, dodging his uncoordinated swing. "You want this back? If you're quick enough, they can sew it back on!" Laughing, Teva ducked underneath a wild swing.

Skeeter shouted, "You bitch! You fucking cunt! Who the fuck does that?"

She tossed it across the parking lot. "Go fetch, fucker!"

He yelled and charged at her.

Feral danced back and executed a neat high kick to his face.

The other 'runner stumbled hard, nearly falling over with the kick's momentum.

Teva took advantage of his weakness, and jabbed him five or six times.

His hands went for something on his person. She didn't hesitate, just stabbed the point in his arm near his shoulder that made the whole thing go numb for a few minutes, and charged him, plowing forward until Skeeter's body slammed into a car and sprawled over the hood. Feral pulled her knife, flicking the butterfly open-not the same one, but close enough-and putting the blade right up near Skeeter's eye.

His struggles stilled, and Teva shot him a toothy grin. "You blink too hard, I'm gonna put your eye out. We clear, Skeet?" He didn't move, didn't speak. "Say yes, _chickie_."

Gulping, the man snarled softly, "Yes."

"You know what your problem is Skeeter?" She paused for a second, then went on without waiting for an answer. "It's a problem a lot of guys seem to share. You looked at me, and you bought into all the pretty packaging, thought you could push me around 'cause you've got a couple pounds on me. Your mistake." Teva leaned on him a little, digging the point of her knife into the skin just under his eyeball. "You know what I do to people who try to screw me over?" When Skeeter didn't answer, just breathed hard and heavy through his nose, Teva drew a drop of blood. "That was a question, Skeet. It's rude not to answer."

"W-what?" he finally choked out.

She smiled, purring, "Good little idiot," like a caress. "I fuck them up, Skeet. Some of them end up dead, some of them end up scarred for life, waking up from nightmares and phantom pains; others aren't so lucky. Now, I'm going to let you go, but if I see you hanging around anywhere near me or my 'run, I'll be back for you. I have your scent now-" _pine, fear, sea salt, cornbread_"-and I will track you like the bitch I am, and carve your pretty blue eyes right out of your skull. Got me?"

Skeeter whispered, "Yeah. Got you."

"After this little stunt, you're lucky to be getting paid at all," Teva remarked lightly. "Price has changed though. I'm taking a two grand out of your original payment. One's for me; consider it my Pain In The Ass fee. One's for Ghost. That's _his_PITA fee." With one hand, she flicked the proper amount of bills forward. "Now transfer the intel, or I kill you right here, right now."

"Okay," Skeeter agreed verbally, mostly because she still had her knife digging into his eye socket. A second later the data showed up in her PAN, and she scanned it quick to make sure it was genuine.

Smiling, Teva kissed the tip of his nose. "Good. Better be the real deal, Skeeter, though frankly, I don't think you're smart enough to fake it. Just in case, remember what happens to people who try to screw me over." She backed off quickly, flicking the bills at him as she did so, keeping the two grand she'd deducted in fees rolled up in her fist. Step by step, she edged away toward Ghost, knife held at the ready. "Get the fuck out of my sight, you piece of shit," she growled.

Ghost was laughing. Actually, more like coughing and laughing at the same time, and _goddamn_ it hurt, but he couldn't stop. What the fuck had he been thinking? Feral was more than capable of handling herself against a shithead like Skeeter; she didn't need _his_ sick ass coming to her rescue. Still, it'd felt good doing something helpful...semi-helpful...maybe not so helpful at all, but the thought was still there - anyway, it'd felt right to come to her defense. Stupid, yes, but it _did_make him feel he'd maybe redeemed himself a little for, well, everything. Plus, it was kind of exhilarating, and just fucking funny that not two seconds after he had the thought that Feral was going to kill Skeeter's dumb ass that she'd swooped down on him like a fucking predatory bird.

_Called it._

...even if she _hadn't_actually killed him. That was probably for the best. Guy could be a total prick but he was good at his job.

"Ohhhh, that was fun," he got out between wheezing breaths as Feral got close to him. "Think I might've met my quota on excitement for the day...Wanna give me a hand up?"

Watching to make sure that Skeeter scrambled for his cash and scampered away, at first Teva didn't reply. Not until she was sure that the 'runner wasn't going to try anything stupid did she flip her knife closed, and slide it into her back pocket as well as the leftover money. Once Skeeter disappeared around the corner of the building, she turned, and offered Ghost her hand.

"You're an idiot," she stated, smiling in contradiction to her matter of fact intonation. "And I hope you know your PITA fee is paying your medical expenses. The doctor is in." Teva gestured with her other hand to herself, then chuckled darkly. "Though I might have to get a little Nurse Ratchet on you if you pull more shit like that."

"That's a..." He held his breath as Feral pulled him up to his feet, sort of. She was probably taking more of his weight than he was, but despite his best efforts to rectify that, the energy drain and the bruising pain from the kick and punches was making it incredibly difficult for him to get his legs underneath himself properly. "That's a pretty accurate analogy. Guess that would make me Billy Bibbit? Only without the...the..."

Whatever he was going to say was lost as his body decided that _right now_ would be the perfect time for him to take another nap. It came on so fast that he didn't even feel himself slumping back towards the ground.

With a sigh, Feral caught the rest of Ghost's suddenly limp weight, and hauled him back up. Today was starting off swimmingly, wasn't it? She got him hauled back in the motel, and set him on the mattress. Unfortunately, she couldn't set all of him on the mattress at once, so it was more like his upper body got plopped, then she moved his legs up, and after that she scooted him up a little so his head was mostly on a pillow. It wasn't that Ghost was particularly heavy; it was just that people were large and unwieldy, especially as dead weight.

Moving back to the door, Feral jury-rigged it up again with the chair, took one look around the room, and started packing up. As soon as Ghost was awake, they were moving. Maybe they wouldn't get far, but she wanted to get gone before Skeeter got smart and came back with friends for what he probably still thought was his due. When everything was tucked back inside her bag, Feral rubbed her eyes in exhaustion, and smelled the odor of her own skin. Four days without a proper wash-up had definitely taken its toll. With a slightly distraught sigh, Feral yanked a pile of clean clothes out of the bottom of the bag, and took her guns with her into the bathroom.

She showered with the door open, and her weapons on the toilet seat lid, on edge constantly because she was listening for the sound of splintering wood which would be her only advance warning that someone was coming. Despite that, Teva felt a little better once she was clean again, and wearing fresh clothes. Lighting up while she squeezed her wet hair with a towel, Feral debated on whether to brew a pot of soycaf and slap on a stim patch, or get some much needed rest. Sleep was the more sensible option of the two. Four days was too long to go without, even for her. Ditching her butt in the toilet bowl, Feral returned, eyed the still-unconscious Ghost, and the unbroken chair underneath the doorknob. She shoved her dirty clothes back in the bag, and zipped it up, then put her weapons on the nightstand next to Ghost.

Of course, she'd dropped him down as soon as she came through the door, but that wasn't really an ideal place for him unless Feral was thinking of using him as a human shield. She wasn't. She rolled him over to the other side of the mattress, stopping when his nose faced the wall, and his back was to her.

One of the guns went underneath her pillow, safety on. The other one stayed on the nightstand. Teva climbed on the bed, laying down behind Ghost, and reached out with one hand. In her half-awake-and-crashing-fast state, it was easy to connect with the magic, to let herself sink into his chi...her chi...the ebb and flow of _their_ chi like the great ocean of the world. She fell asleep running her hand over his back, pushing and pulling the sweet water of life through his body to the places that it needed to go. Teva wouldn't sleep easily, but a little rest would be better than nothing.

* * *

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Four

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: Okay, so not quite as blah as last chapter. Things are improving!

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

When he blinked open his eyes he found himself back in the bed staring at the wall, not feeling at all like the punching bag he _should've_felt like. It didn't seem like Feral had put him on any sort of pain killers. He'd know it if she had, had done enough of those to know how they made him feel, plus he really didn't think she'd go that route when he was still detoxing. Whatever she'd done, it'd worked, so he supposed it really didn't matter in the long run.

Rolling over, he was surprised to find himself face to face with the subject of his thoughts. His breath caught for just a second, his mind starting to slip back into darker thoughts, but then he made himself look at her. _Really_ look at her. She was fine. She'd taken a shower, was fully dressed again, and had just slipped back into the bed to get some sleep. Some much _needed_sleep now that he was actually studying the exhaustion on her face.

A mix of gratitude and guilt washed through him, and before he knew what he was doing he found himself reaching a hand around the back of her head. Softly, gently, he tilted her face down just a little so he could place a feather-light kiss on the top of her forehead, then very carefully slid his other arm beneath her pillow so she'd be laying on his shoulder. His hand came across the gun there and he gripped it, turning it around so it was facing the door, his fingers ready to flip the safety and pull the trigger if anyone came through at her back. Pulling her closer against his chest, his free arm wrapping around her protectively, he lay there awake letting her get the rest she deserved, taking on the role of guardian himself for a little while. Anyone that came through that door was getting a bullet in the head, no hesitation. Nobody was touching her again, no one but him until she pushed him away.

Too much movement in too short a span of time had Teva startling awake, and she reached automatically for her gun, hand shooting underneath the pillow with all the quickness of a viper's strike. Instead of meeting the expected hilt though, she grasped a wrist, and squeezed tightly. She cracked open her eyes, staring blearily, and perhaps a bit grumpily for a second. Okay, so it was 100% grumpy.

It took her another slow blink to determine that she wasn't in any danger. The sensation was so foreign that it took her awhile to uncurl her fingers from Ghost's wrist. "S'ry," she mumbled, patting his wrist lightly, then withdrawing.

He jumped slightly when her hand clutched around his wrist, then froze, holding his breath like he would if he found himself facing off with an angry dog. With the glare she was giving him, for a moment he thought he'd overstepped his boundaries and she was about to do what his brain had been telling him she should've done since Horizon. When her eyes cleared, though, and she patted his wrist while mumbling out her apology, he knew it was okay. She'd just woken up confused, just like he'd done a million times over his lifespan. Everything was fine.

She didn't know what to do with her hand after that. One arm was wedged between them bent against her chest, fingers curling loosely against her collarbone. What the fuck was she supposed to do with the other one? She tried tucking it behind her, but that stretched the tendon uncomfortably. After that Teva rested her arm on the length of her side, and thought dreamily that it was like balancing a dragon on the Great Wall of China, its girth and rounded sides too much to be supported by the path made skinny by its bulk.

Amusement followed his relief as he watched her try to figure out where to put her arm. Part of him wanted to help, the old him trying to break out with a bit of smartass, flirty commentary, but he pushed it back where it belonged. He wasn't that person anymore. He wasn't really certain _who_ he was, actually, but he couldn't be that guy again. That Brandon had died back in the 'run.

Her eyes had closed again. Everything was dark and warm. She didn't remember that happening. Somewhere between musing about the Great Wall, and how the fuck anybody cuddled ever without being incredibly uncomfortable, wondering if maybe there were classes for this sort of thing, an instruction manual of some kind, Teva fell back asleep. Her arm slipped off the narrow curve of her hip, and lay on Ghost's chest, fingers bunching the fabric of his t-shirt.

It surprised him when her fingers found themselves latching onto his shirt. He hadn't been expecting that; she probably hadn't either, but she was mostly out of it already so it probably wasn't done with any sort of conscious thought. It wasn't really about a male/female attraction thing, anyway. He craved human comfort, craved _giving_ it too - a habit and side effect still lingering after all the years, too ingrained in his system from what felt like an eternity of practice with Nate. Maybe on some level she needed that, too. He didn't really know Feral, not any more than what little she'd told him back in the diner. Somehow, though, he got the feeling she was like him in a way, that somewhere beneath all the attitude and witty humor and reckless antics lay a lonely soul kept hidden from the world, the part that cried in grief for lost loved ones whether through death or simple abandonment, that housed a fear of dying alone in a dark corner of the world and no one would care, that wanted to scream out for somebody else to just make everything okay because it was somebody else's turn, that hid its face in tired shame because nobody else would ever understand. It was the part that nobody could love, that was too afraid to love in return, that kept people like him, maybe people like her, at a safe distance from the rest of humanity. It was just safer that way. For everyone.

In her sleep, she might have murmured, "You need another bath."

Her mumble about him needing another bath brought his thoughts back to the real world. _Another? So much for modesty,_he thought with an embarrassed smile. He'd take one a little later, after she'd slept for a bit. Waking her up now so soon after she'd fallen back to sleep didn't seem right, and as much as he hated to admit it, he would probably need her help. Based on the fact that her bags were packed beside the door, it was clear she wanted to book it soon, so collapsing in a heap in the bathroom wouldn't be the most beneficial course of action on his part. For now he'd just wait, and watch, and let her sleep maybe just for an hour, then they could go. Just an hour.

Fifteen minutes later his eyes drifted shut even as they fixated on the clock on the nightstand. His last fleeting thought was that sickness, malnutrition, lack of real sleep, and 'guard duty' really didn't fit in the same equation.

* * *

When Teva woke it was hours later, and she spared a moment to glance at the clock and be grateful that no one had shown up to take their heads off while they were out cold. Either she'd really scared Skeeter or his revenge was going to take a little more time to plot.

She eyed Brandon's face as he slept. What was it about sleep that always made a person seem younger, more innocent? Was it just that the facial muscles relaxed, wiping away the expressions, the masks they hid behind? The young man mourning the death of his cousin, who killed himself because he was unable to cope with their traumatic childhood, was too fresh in her mind. Of course, Teva figured that if Ghost knew just how badly she felt for him, he'd be pissed. Stupid protector urges. What the fuck was that all about? Who decided she needed to be gifted with that shitty quality?

Sighing, she slipped off the bed, scrubbed her hands over her face to wake up a little more and started strapping on her favorite accessories, then called for a cab.

"Come on," Teva cooed, nudging Ghost in the calf with the toe of her boot. "Wakey wakey, champ. Cab's on the way."

Ghost groaned. He didn't want to get up. He wanted Feral to crawl back into the bed with him and go back to sleep. It'd been the first time in ages that he had a clear memory of being fully relaxed and unafraid to close his eyes, the first time where he'd actually had regular, quirky dreams that made no sense instead of nightmares of his past. More of that would be good. Getting up, getting some semblance of actual pants on, making sure _his_ small assortment of stuff was actually packed, and getting into a cab did _not_sound appealing.

"Thought you said I needed a bath," he mumbled as a lame excuse, not even so much as opening his eyes. Something told him playing possum with her wasn't going to work, though.

"Location's been compromised," she stated firmly, "That means we need to move. In case you hadn't noticed, I tend to make more enemies than friends. Besides, you have an actual apartment. You can bathe in your own tub, use shampoo that doesn't come from a miniature bottle and double as body wash, and I can sleep on the couch and not worry about this broken fucking lock anymore."

In a flurry of activity, Teva started gathering up the few things Ghost had taken out of his bag before her arrival, packing them up. She tossed his jacket and a pair of jeans in the general direction of his face, then a pair of socks for good measure. "If you ask nicely, I may even use my magic hands on you again."

Without waiting for a response-there really wasn't any 'no' option when it came to Teva-she strolled into the bathroom, picked up the few items in there, and came back to toss them in his bag. Zipping it up, Feral tugged on her jacket, and turned, eyeing Brandon with a raised eyebrow that said clearer than words 'I'm already done, and you haven't even twitched?'

Nope, he hadn't moved a muscle. She couldn't see his grin beneath the jacket that was partially covering his face, which was probably good because she'd probably hit him for it. The look in her eyes said she wasn't screwing around anymore. He'd have to get up.

"Alright, I'm moving," he grumbled reluctantly.

Pushing the clothing off his face, he made himself sit up and began to slip on his jeans. Getting out of there was probably a good idea. It'd be kind of humiliating if word got around that he'd been offed by Skeeter. Fucking Skeeter. Because of him, Ghost now had to go home where he'd have to sleep in his own bed. By himself. With no...magic hands? What did that even mean? He'd ask about it later. Right now he was too locked onto the whole 'sleeping on the couch' thing. Fucking couch. He should torch the thing. Should probably torch some other things too...

"Um, about my place..." he began hesitantly as he fumbled with his boots. "I had - _have_ - stashes. I can't be in there with that shit." _Not if you're going to be out in the front room sleeping on the fucking couch while I'm having nightmares._

He couldn't very well _ask_her to 'please sleep with the guy who tried to rape you in his own bed when there's a perfectly safe couch in a whole different room.'

Fucking couch.

And now he was in a bad fucking mood. The morning had been so good, too.

"Of course you do," Teva replied sotto voce. "You're a recovering addict. If you tell me where they are though, _all of them_, I'll get rid of them. Problem solved. You should get a rubber band too for your wrist. I heard that aversion therapy is effective for some people. Pavlov, you know. Every time you feel the urge to use, you snap your wrist."

Her leg wiggled, a nervous twitch that she usually would have suppressed, but frankly, she was still sleep-deprived. Nervous energy was the only energy she had left. "Is it gonna bother you if I smoke?" Fishing her pack of cigarettes out, she made them dance in the air, as though he didn't already know what she was talking about.

A horn sounded outside. Strolling to the window, Teva peeked out. "It's the cab. Let's roll, gimpy."

He didn't say anything as she helped him out to the cab, nor on the way home. Using the cover of still being sleepy he let his head rest against the window and closed his eyes, looking tired on the outside (not hard to do given his recent state), but feeling his anxiety stirring up like a twister on the inside. They hadn't even gotten halfway there before his mind was already going over where his stashes were, where he could find the right mix to keep him awake.

Which was why the first thing he did when Feral got him inside the apartment, carefully maneuvering him around his little pathway of books to the treacherous couch, was to tell her where she could find him a rubber band. After that he snapped it each and every time he told her where one of his stashes was, including a questionable mention of the rubbing alcohol in the bathroom. He didn't think he'd be that desperate, but between falling asleep to Lonnie's face and poisoning himself with potentially toxic liquor...

He snapped his rubber band again.

And refrained from telling Feral about the couple pills hidden inside a knot of wood in his headboard. They'd only get him through one night, so he wouldn't use them unless he absolutely had to. Just for an emergency.

* * *

Feral scrubbed that apartment of all traces of drugs and paraphernalia. She even dumped the mouthwash, and hid the glue. Fortunately, she already had the contents of Ghost's bathroom cabinet in her bag, which eliminated the rest of the harmless-when-used-properly-products. Speaking of... She glanced in the fridge, and casually tossed a can of whipped topping out the window to the dumpster in the alley below. Teva took turns alternately drinking the alcoholic contents of the fridge and pouring them down the drain, humming while she worked and swishing her hips to the beat concocted.

She covered her mouth, holding in a burp from drinking too much beer too quickly, bagged up the empties, and tossed those out the window too. "So," Teva asked, lighting up, "If that's everything, and I'm trusting you to be honest with me, Brandon, because I think you want to be clean so I'm not going to go over every square inch of your apartment with a fine-tooth comb, then you should go to bed." She blew her smoke out the window she was standing next to, keeping her distance so the scent wouldn't travel over to her recently cleaned-up guy-she-knew/patient/roomie(?). "You're probably tired. I'm in serious need of a coma. Let's make this happen."

"Bath!" he blurted out, looking for any reason not to be holed up by himself in the bedroom he hadn't used in ages. Inwardly wincing at the almost desperate way the single word had flown out of his mouth, he made himself calm down before he continued. "Or shower, or whatever...no, probably the bath so I don't have to stand for very- You know what? I'm just gonna go do that. A nice, uh, nice, warm...long...bath sounds really good- _relaxing_. Sounds relaxing, which is what I...what I nee- Can you just, uh, help me get set up? I can just holler at you or something if I need you after that. Sound good?"

He snapped his rubber band a couple times. Funny, he'd just started using the thing and it was already becoming an almost unconscious habit. His wrist was going to be completely raw by morning, he was sure.

Teva eyed the way he was snapping his wrist, and fought the urge to smile. It wasn't funny...but it kind of was in a my-humor-is-totally-inappropriate sort of way. Nodding, she straightened up, flicking her cigarette out the window. "'kay," was all she said, disappearing into the bathroom. "If I leave you a razor in case you want to shave, are you going to try to off yourself? You're looking a little scruffy. Though with a little trim you could work that look if you wanted to." It was kind of a backwards, convoluted compliment, but a compliment none the less.

She cranked the faucet on, adjusting the temperature to something hot enough that Bran would have plenty of time in the bath if he wanted it, but not enough to scald him. Jamming the plug in, Teva eyed the rising water level, then the bathing products in the shower caddy. No bubble bath. There should be bubbles just in case she...just in case. She squeezed a sizable amount of body wash under the running water, hoping that would do the trick. Then she added more, because it was body wash, not bubble bath, and who the hell knew what the difference was and how long it would last?

She went on a hunt for the towels, dragging out a nice, big one, and a wash cloth, and plopping them in arm's reach of the tub.

Returning to Brandon, she held out her hands to pull him off of the ass-eating couch. Man, that thing was not going to be fun to sleep on. "Time for your bath, stinky." She winked to let him know that she was just poking fun at him, not trying to be outright mean.

He'd actually relaxed a little bit on his own while Feral had been getting things ready for him. The thought of taking a bath was becoming less of a general excuse not to sleep and more of a _that really is going to feel good_sort of deal. When she got him in the bathroom he had to laugh at the bubbles rising over the edge of the tub.

"Oh my god," he chuckled in disbelief. He could smell his "special" body wash and wondered how much of it she'd used. That stuff wasn't exactly cheap - most guy products smelled like musky manly-man shit, but he liked the hint of gingerbread in his even though it was hard to find. Something he'd discovered from one of his first girlfriends was that as much as they liked the standard cologne smells, smelling like a cookie was really fun too - tasty and less assaulting on the senses when things got up close and personal.

He tended not to use that wash unless he was going out to attract female attention (something he hadn't done for a while), but only _because_it was so expensive. To be completely honest with himself, he actually really liked the smell. If he could get away with wearing it all the time he would. Instead, his normal stuff was more low-key, standard "clean" scented. He hadn't really needed anything more than that when he'd had the pheromones, and after removing them he wasn't exactly "on the market" anyway so it didn't matter. Therefore, his 'endangered species' body wash floating on the surface of the water in the form of bubbly foam, actually being used for something kind of fun instead of just wasting away on a shelf, was just another odd, surprise Feral-ism that made him unusually happy.

'Happy' generally led a person away from suicidal thoughts, which made him glance at the razor. He probably did need a shave. "I am going to use that razor," he informed his volunteer live-in nurse/nanny/sponsor, "but not for nefarious purposes. If you come in to check on me and I'm bleeding, I promise you it was an accident. I wouldn't exactly call my hands 'surgeon steady' right now."

"Sounds good," Teva agreed, backing up a step or two. She shoved her hands in her back pockets, rocking on her heels. "So, uh, can you...handle all this?" Pulling her left hand out, she waved vaguely at him, encompassing everything from his head to his boots. "'Cause, not gonna lie, I gave you a bath a couple days ago, but I pretty much sat you in the tub in your underwear. I figured, you know, propriety and whatnot."

Teva brought her hand to her mouth, nibbling absently on the skin surrounding her middle finger's nail bed. Holy fuck, why was she so awkward? If a whole passel of angry gangers wanted to bust down the front door, and start shooting shit, that would be _great_. Right now. Any second. She was way more equipped to deal with that shit.

"Not that I have a problem with nudity," she babbled, "I walk around naked all the time, but you know, I live by myself in a seventh floor apartment, and I kinda figure if there's some a-hole peeping in my windows on the ground, he deserves an eyeful for the crick he's gonna have in his neck." _Oh. My. God. Shut up!_

"Wow, your bath stuff smells good, like...chemical cookies. You know, like the 'fresh' cookies they sell at the Stuffer Shack? Yeah, man, totally smells like that, but less chocolatey. More like snickerdoodle day."

Biting down on her tongue, Teva inwardly cursed the fact that she was now channeling Switch. That was totally not okay. It was going to ruin her awesomely badass image. She needed to get out of this bathroom STAT before she did something even more embarrassing, like blushing. _Dear merciful deities, it would be kind of you if you could see fit not to have me channel a teenage girl right now._

"I think I can handle it," he said with a hint of a smile, cutting off her babbling. The situation was obviously making her uncomfortable, something he absolutely did _not_ want to do, and so allowing her the freedom to flee was the only real option. He'd just have to sit on the edge of the tub and fumble a bit, but he could manage. He'd gotten his pants _on_earlier all by himself, so getting everything off would probably be easy.

_...er..._, he corrected, easi_er_. Sort of. After she got out of there he sat down almost immediately, more sort of letting himself fall than sit, actually, but he managed to stay on the edge of the tub and not fall back into the water with his clothes on, so bonus! It took a little longer and some more near-falls later to actually get undressed all the way (including one particularly loud near-miss while he was in the process of getting out of his boxers, his hand slamming against wall beside him to catch himself so hard that he feared Feral would come bursting in and see him with his unmentionables partway down his thighs, so his voice had practically come out in a rushed squeak to assure her he was fine), but soon he found himself settling back into his gingerbread bubbles letting the tension flow out of him on one long breath. He sat with his head resting on the back edge of the tub for a while before he nabbed the washcloth and actually scrubbed himself free of the lingering sweat, then realized his shampoo was still up in the caddy. He couldn't reach it from where he was.

Sighing, he made an attempt to stand only to have his foot slip out from underneath him, sending him back down with a heavy splash that flooded some of the water out onto the floor, and had him hissing out a little "_shit_" as his tailbone hit the porcelain. That hurt. _And_ left him feeling a little dizzy. Trying again didn't sound appealing. Neither did not washing his hair.

Making a decision, he leaned forward to let some of the water drain out of the tub, turned on the hot tap again, and poured more of his precious body wash under the running faucet so he could replace the wall of bubbles that had nearly disappeared. He let them foam up so high that they crested over the top of the tub by an almost impressive few inches, making sure the only part of his body that would be seen would be his head and the tops of his shoulders. Once that was done, he scooted back as far from beneath the caddy as he could so she wouldn't have to lean over him directly, locked his hands behind his head in a casual manner, but also in a way that she could easily see if he tried to make a grab for her, and called her name.

"Hey, Feral?" It had been a little quiet but he assumed she was probably listening in case he needed her. He made himself speak louder so he could get out the explanation before she came in thinking he'd hurt himself or something, which he had, but he wasn't about to tell her he'd hurt his ass bone. "I just need the shampoo! I'm covered up! ...Mostly..." The last word came out more in a mumble, but it was fine. She wouldn't see anything under his mountain of cookie bubbles, so she should be okay to come in just long enough to hand him what he needed. Then she could run away again, he could shave (maybe - turned out the bathing process was more physical than he'd thought, so putting a razor against his face with fatigue-shaky hands might not be the best idea, after all), and maybe he'd just sit there until the water got cold. That could take a while. Stalling was _good._

* * *

It wasn't that Teva hadn't seen naked people before. She had; she'd even specifically seen _him_naked before, or at least mostly naked. It was just...there was a difference between seeing an unclothed, unconscious man, and having a fully aware man standing before you while you help him get undressed. It didn't matter if it was completely due to an unromantic situation. A naked man was a naked man was a naked fucking man, and frankly, she didn't want to be thinking about nudity around Brandon, who was as far from the state of mind required for it to be okay to look at him and think about how attractive he was. Again, consciousness made all the difference. While he was mostly looped out on drugs, he was pliant, docile like a child, and she'd seen him as such, helped him with a very detached air.

But now he was talking and smirking, and she was awkward in pretty much any situation that required human contact, and so it was best to just not to go there.

While Bran was busy in the bath, Teva took the opportunity to change into her pajamas. Sleeping fully dressed was no fun. Her belt dug into her hip, as well as the little metal discs pinning the corners of her jeans' pockets down. Her shoes were heavy, and kept her from hooking her ankles around each other the way she apparently liked to do in her sleep. Stripping down, she put on her sleep shorts, and wished they were longer because all of the sudden that seemed like a lot of leg, including her intricately tattooed one, and she didn't want to make Brandon uncomfortable. From the bag Teva pulled out the biggest shirt she'd brought, which was so long it actually covered the shorts, and declared in white, blocky font on the black fabric, "I'm just one big f#$ing ray of sunshine, aren't I?" She knotted one side near the hem, which yanked it up an inch or two, showing that yes, she did have shorts on under here, and no, she wasn't going to run around his apartment with no pants on. _Rest assured, Brandon, your chastity is safe with me._

Frankly, pretty much everybody's chastity was safe around Teva, which was one of the most depressing facts about her life. Sitting down on the couch, she picked up the journal she'd left off on, opened to the dog-eared page in it, and started reading again. There was just something about most people that left her completely uninterested, then sometimes she was interested and they opened their mouths, and everything that came out made her dry up like the Sierra desert. She was determined though that at some point while she was in L.A. she was going out, and she was getting laid, because that would whatever, cure her of thoughts of Red...or something. _Sounds like shaky logic, Teva._

A thud in the bathroom startled her, but Ghost's reassurance that he was fine had her settling back down. She made it through another couple of pages before the request for shampoo made its way out through the cracked door. Marking her place, Teva walked into the bathroom, expression apologetic. "Sorry," she said, reaching for the shampoo in the caddy, and handing it off. "I guess I'm a little more tired than I thought."

He did a little double take when she came in wearing...what she was wearing...and immediately decided that watching the bubbles fizzle and pop was suddenly very fascinating. They became even _more_ fascinating when she leaned across to get the shampoo, the long shirt pulling up just a little to expose the short - _why were they so short?_ - shorts that much more. The bottle suddenly appearing in front of his face and her talking to him had him attempting to look up at her, but he had to look _up_, and she wasn't all armored out, and he was _naked_, and the bubbles didn't seem like much of a cover anymore.

Deliberately keeping her eyes off the replenished bubble stock, she scanned the caddy again. "Is there conditioner too? Anything else you need while I'm here?" She glanced down at Brandon, then ordered herself to maintain eye contact.

He probably caught her eyes for all of half a second before he was glancing around at everything else, and why was she still there asking him questions? Did he need conditioner?

"No, no, I'm good, I'm fine," he rambled out, watching his shaky hands attempt to dump some shampoo into his palm. The bottle was nearly full, making it heavy, and between that and the slick bubbles it slipped and fell into the water, splashing it up onto Feral's legs. He looked at the little blobs of bubbly foam sliding down her skin, then up at her face, his own wearing a full mask of embarrassed apology.

"Sorry, I'm..." he let out a nervous laugh and repeated her words, "I guess I'm a little more tired than I thought. I'll just..." His hands fished around in the tub searching for the bottle, and gripping it, he held it up in triumph before it slipped out of his grasp again. Closing his eyes, he pursed his lips and blew a little frustrated breath through his nose. "I got it," he stated clearly, still keeping his eyes shut. Yeah, he was definitely not shaving tonight. This was pathetic.

"Okay," Teva replied easily, lips twitching at her charge's clumsiness. She turned, snagging the towel off the toilet seat lid, and propping her leg up for a second to wipe off the water and foam she'd accumulated from this round of bathroom adventures. "No worries, it's just a little soap. Not like you got me badly, and my t-shirt isn't even white, so it wouldn't be a tragedy if you did," she joked, dropping the towel back down, its neat folds ruined. "I'll be in the living room if you slip and fall on your ass again. Just don't make me have to clean up any blood."

Waggling her fingers over her shoulder, she disappeared through the doorway again, closing it so just a crack of space remained between the door and the jamb. Swinging by the couch to pick up the journal she was still working on, Feral padded into the kitchen to where she'd left her cigarettes, lit one up, and hopped up on the counter to read and flick her ash out the window. She just needed to stay up a little longer, just to make sure Brandon didn't drown in the bathtub like the runt-puppy in the litter.

Bath time was not so relaxing anymore, not at all, really. As soon as she stopped flashing her leg at him (_that wasn't on purpose and you know it_), and left him to himself, he quickly lathered the shampoo into his hair and rinsed it out by turning on the showerhead, letting the warm water rain down on him where he sat. Sighing, he pulled the drain and just stayed where he was while the bubbles sank away, the fresh water rinsing off any residual foaminess that was still clinging to him. It felt good, and he let himself zone out for a few minutes, only snapping out of it when he leaned forward a little too far as his body tried to pull him into sleep. Yeah, _that_would've been attractive, him face-planting into the porcelain and Feral having to haul his unconscious ass out of the tub, probably bleeding from a busted nose which she had very specifically said she didn't want to have to clean up.

He turned off the shower and leaned up on his knees, snatching the towel off the toilet seat where Feral had left it and wrapping it tight around his waist. Phase one - complete. Phase two?

How the fuck was he going to get out of the tub when he was crashing so fast?

"Come on, Brandon, just one leg at a time," he mumbled to himself, and braced one arm against the wall so he could push himself up. _Success!_ He was standing. And probably looked like a newborn calf, but still, standing was good. The tripping over the edge of the tub on his way out and letting out a curse as he hit the ground was _not _so good.

"Yep, I'm done," he grumbled as one of his hands grew a mind of its own, checking to make certain the towel was still hiding everything important from Feral, because she'd probably be coming through that door in another half second. Suddenly the whole razor suicide joke didn't sound like such a bad idea. He didn't think he could possibly embarrass himself any more if he tried.

Feral heard the crash, marking her page, and trotting off to the bathroom. "Bran, you conscious?" she called out a second before pushing open the door. She raised her eyebrow upon discovering him on the floor, and leaned on the door jamb. "Should've asked for help," she sing-songed smugly. "So how's that pride taste going down?"

She knew she probably shouldn't pick at him so much. This situation had to be much harder on him than it was for her. Teva got to do her usual schtick, and be the strong one. Ghost was suddenly reduced to such a state as to need help performing tasks most people took for granted. Sighing, she rubbed her temple. "Sorry, that was douchey."

Straightening up, she crossed the distance between them, and squatted down on her haunches kind of next to him, grateful that her ass was narrow enough that they could both fit in the narrow space between the tub, toilet, and wall. Patting her opposite shoulder, she smiled a little. "Put your arm here. I'll get you standing and mobile, and the most you'll have to worry about is keeping your towel on and moving your feet."

_Yeah, that _was_ douchey,_he thought, giving his rubber band a particularly hard snap as he shot her a glare before reaching up for her shoulder. Yes, the pathetic state he was in was his own fault. He knew it already. It didn't need to be rubbed in his face.

Getting him up without losing his towel was a bit of a clumsy ordeal, but they managed. He chalked it up to his own iron tenacity, having given himself the ultimatum that if he failed in that one simple task of holding what little modesty he had left, then he really was going for that fucking razor. This was ridiculous.

Once inside his bedroom he had her steer him towards his dresser (yes, he was still working on the meager bits of pride still on his plate, and could pick out his own clothes like a big boy) where he pulled out another pair of boxers and a simple black wife-beater. Anything more involved than that probably required more work than he was capable of, and it had pretty much been his standard dress for the past four days that Feral had been taking care of him, anyway, so it wasn't like it would be a shock to her or anything to see him cruising around in his underwear. Not that he'd be doing much "cruising" any time in the near future. Once he got into that bed he was probably going to be stranded there until he built his strength back up, only venturing out when he had his human crutch to lean on.

He briefly eyed the knot in his headboard as Feral lowered him to the mattress, and snapped his band again. Only for emergencies.

Turning back to her with his eyebrows arched, he said a little snidely, "You know what? I think I liked the taste of my pride so much the first time that I'm going to try another bite and put these on all by myself. Not like it's going to matter if I can't get dressed anyway. It wouldn't be the first time I've slept naked." He gave her a little smirk and a wink, knowing he was being an ass. It was petty and stupid, but he wanted to put her off for no other reason than the fact that she got to go fall asleep without having to worry about anything, while he was completely fucking drained, wanting sleep so badly he could almost touch it, but too scared to put himself at the mercy of his own personal bogeyman to risk it. The thought irritated him even more, making his eyes flick to the door in an obvious dismissal. "Do me a favor and leave the lights on when you go, alright?"

She rolled her eyes at his tone, but acknowledged that the blow was well-earned. Teva was an asshole. That had already been established years ago. She did not do the whole cooing nurse routine with grace. In fact, she rarely did it at all. This was so far outside her comfort zone.

Teva's hand hovered over the light switch. She almost flicked them off just to spite him, but changed her mind at the last second, leaving the room without another word or glance. She may have slammed the door a little on her way out. It wasn't intentional, she'd just pulled on it a little too hard in her irritation.

"Why am I such a dick?" she groaned to herself, then planted face down on the couch, punching the throw pillow under her head until it was soft...ish. Feeling around awkwardly, Feral yanked the throw blanket from the back of the sofa, and it flopped over her half-heartedly. She left it as it was, one leg almost completely uncovered due to the twist in the blanket. Fuck it. Time for sleeping. No more of this day.

* * *

He took his time getting dressed, moving carefully more for the sake of keeping himself occupied rather than trying to keep himself from losing his perch on the side of the bed. When he was finished he slipped under the covers and sat back against the headboard, rubbing his hands down his face. Maybe he was tired enough to sleep and not dream. He definitely _felt_tired enough to just go completely unconscious.

Forcing himself to scoot down so he was lying in the bed properly, he shut his eyes and felt sleep pulling at him instantly...

_"You want both of us?" Nate asked._

Lonnie's mouth twisted up into a smile. "You're getting older, son. Time to teach you how it's done. I'll coach you through it."

The two boys looked at each other in horror before Nate pushed his little cousin behind him. "No, you can't make me."

Their uncle took a threatening step closer, but Nate refused to back down, continuing to act as a shield for Brandon until Lonnie latched onto his arm and pulled him away. "You will do as I say, son, or you get punished."

"Then punish me," Nate snapped back. "I'm not doing it."

Brandon started crying and pulling on his cousin's other arm. "No, Nate, no, it's okay. It's okay, I don't mind. It won't be so bad if you do it. It won't hurt if you do it. I trust you."

"And that's exactly why I can't," Nate said softly, not turning around to look at Brandon's pleading eyes.

Lonnie snatched Brandon's wrist and dragged him along in anger. "You're going to watch," he snapped. "Show you what happens when you tell me no..."

Brandon jerked awake, taking stuttering, gasping breaths. Wiping the tears off his face, he pushed himself back so he was sitting against the headboard again, and stared at the knot that was right beside his elbow. Turning away, he focused his attention on the rubberband, snapping it against the inside of his wrist over and over again. The growing sting would keep him awake just as well as the drugs could. It wasn't an emergency yet.

Something woke her up, jerked her right out of a doze, and into awareness, wondering what the hell was going on. Whatever the noise was, it had stopped. Uneasy, Teva slipped off the couch, groaned as her back protested the action-the damn couch gave too easily under her weight, turning a surface that was pretty okay to sit on into a special kind of hell for sleeping-and checked the apartment, sliding the kitchen window shut and locking it. She was kind of surprised that Brandon didn't have a security system in place. Feral was reckless herself, but she still had a security system in her apartment. It let her sleep soundly at night, knowing that a blaring alarm would go off if somebody tried to break in.

Also interesting considering that Ghost's safe house had a nice security system in place...

Sleepily, Teva stopped outside Brandon's room, hand poised to knock. She paused, wondering if maybe she'd hovered enough. He might start throwing things at her if she bothered him now; he really needed the rest. Standing there long enough in complete silence made everything else seem really loud. Somewhere in the apartment something was dripping, a pipe or a faucet that needed to be tightened. The apartment above them creaked like somebody was walking around. From within the bedroom she heard a sound, something light and repetitive. Having ascertained that Ghost wasn't even asleep, she tapped lightly on the door, calling out, "Bran? Can I come in?" She made sure she sounded particularly innocent and sleepy to generate 'aw, she's so cute and widdle' fluffy feelings. "I'm sorry I was mean earlier."

He glanced at the door, his fingers still continuing their pull and snap of the band, his eyes red and burning as he tried and failed to keep the occasional stray tear from falling down his face. That had been the night, he knew, the one that had truly broken his cousin. The things Lonnie had done to him...

It had been for _him_. Nate had endured that pain because he'd refused to violate Brandon, to tarnish the close bond that they shared, and years down the road he would kill himself over it.

Sitting up straighter, he sniffed and once again wiped his hand across his face. "Yeah," he called out on a relieved breath, hoping to god he didn't sound like he was begging. Wondering if it would scare her off knowing exactly how much he needed her to be near him, he kept right on nervously snapping the band as the door pushed open.

She slowly turned the knob, and slipped in the room, blinking in the bright light. The rest of the apartment was black except for the meager illumination from the street lamps outside. The change was sudden, leaving her a little blinded. "Sorry, I, um..." she tripped over her words, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Your couch is a torture instrument designed by Lucifer himself," Teva finally stated. "It seems all nice and comfy for the first five minutes, then all the cushions start sinking, and you can feel all the springs, and I have really bony hips." There was a blatant whine in her voice toward the end of her run-on sentence, as she shut the door behind her, and crept further in the room.

Eyeing his repetitive snapping of the band on his wrist, Teva asked quietly, "Bad night?" She sat on the edge of the bed, and brought her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around it. With her hair messed up, and her eyes all sleepy, sitting in the fetal position like a little kid, she looked pretty harmless. Her posture matched the apology in her expression.

"Yeah," he whispered again, and glanced at her long enough to catch her looking at his wrist. He stopped plucking at the band, realizing how red and raw his skin looked underneath it. Slowly, he moved the band to his other arm, then slid over to make more room for her. "Sorry about the couch," he murmured as he slipped back down beneath the covers, turning his back to her. With her unable to see his face, a grateful smile tugged at his lips.

He decided the couch was now his most favorite possession.

Crawling further up the mattress, Teva slipped under the covers. Turning her back to his back, she tried to relax. The pillows were too high though. She'd had everything arranged the way she liked it before leaving to ride to Ghost's rescue. Now there were two, and she tugged one off in a huff, twisting her hips slightly, one leg cocked like she was in the recovery position. That still wasn't quite right though, so she shoved the spare pillow underneath the covers, propping up her cocked knee on its surface, and hooking her ankle behind her bottom leg. A little adjustment of the pillow under her head so that she was resting on the right half, hands curled loosely around the left that was slanted down toward her body a little more, had her finally in just the right spot.

She sighed happily, and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her.

…A little sliver of red showed underneath her eyelids from the overhead light. That was going to bother her. She could already tell. A few more minutes of staring at that was going to make her batshit nuts. "Can I turn off the light?"

He tensed up, but only for a half second before relaxing again. It wasn't the dark he was afraid of, after all. No, what had him on edge was the concept of having to face his nightmares alone, something he hadn't had to do as a child because Nate had been there to see him through the worst of it. Feral was there now, though, and it didn't seem like she was going anywhere any time soon, so why not shut off the lights?

"Yeah, go ahead," he answered, turning his head slightly so he could talk to her over his shoulder. When she moved away to go do it he felt the slightest twinge of panic that she wasn't going to come back, especially when everything went dark, but he shoved it down quickly enough. Codependency was vastly different from 'I will freak the fuck out if you so much as leave my line of sight.' He didn't want to be that guy, and she sure as hell didn't sign up to be his human dreamcatcher forever.

Still, despite the logical thoughts, he found himself rolling onto his back as she returned to the bed. That way he could stay safely on his side of the mattress, but at the same time he could see her heat signature as easily as he could see her full form in broad daylight, and could also extend his arm out enough to just brush his fingers up against her back. Between the visual and slight physical confirmation, he felt secure enough to give the whole sleep thing one more shot.

Getting up to turn off the light of course meant that she then had to get re-situated. Poor B, he was probably starting to feel a little like a tossed salad. Finally, Teva managed to find the comfy spot again.

She held her breath for a second at the light touch on her back, wondering idly if they were about to have another episode of Awkward With Others. When it seemed that was all that Ghost wanted though, physical confirmation that she was there, she closed her eyes, and let the darkness take her.

As she fell asleep she mumbled, "If I'm not up in twelve hours... I was going to say 'wake me,' but truthfully, you do that at your own risk. I am not a pleasant person when I wake up. I gotta-" Teva yawned widely. "-do this 'run before that fuckhead tries to yank my job out from under me."

A minute later she was letting out breathy little snores as her everything finally lost the sense of urgency that had driven her for the past few days.

* * *

He hadn't remembered falling asleep. He also didn't feel any sort of residual fear left over from nightmares that his memory couldn't quite latch onto. So why he woke up with his arm once again draped around Feral's waist was a mystery to him. Sure, it wasn't the leech-like clinging he'd found himself doing the last couple times, but still, the fact that 'cuddle' had apparently become his default sleep setting was a little foreign to him.

Not that he wouldn't with the girls that he used to bring home if that's what they wanted, but more often than not, sleep would take him _away_from that kind of physical closeness. He chalked that up to his need to be self-protective, not wanting foreign hands on him while he was defenseless in dreamland. Of course, Feral wasn't exactly a close friend either, but it probably wasn't really all that much of a leap for him to put his complete trust in her. It wasn't that much different than all the other ways he'd completely pulled away from his old precautionary measures. If she had killed him in his sleep it wouldn't have been a big loss, and since it seemed clear by this point that she had no intention of doing that, he got to have some nights where his past didn't haunt him. He considered that to be a win/win scenario...or at least a whatever/win scenario.

With a glance at the curtained window he noted that it didn't seem like it was quite morning yet. Not that a lot of light filtered through the material ever, but when the sun was actually out it had a tendency to peek through around the edges creating a sort of halo on the wall. At the moment everything was still dark, and he briefly wondered what time it was, then decided it didn't matter. He wasn't going anywhere anyway, and he had no intention of waking up Feral until she was good and ready to _be_up.

Except he did kind of have to pee. And now that the thought had made itself known, he wasn't going to be able to pass back out until the situation was rectified.

Slowly pulling his arm off Feral's side, he carefully sat up and evaluated his mobility function. He felt a lot better, not so shaky after his night's rest. If he went slowly he could probably make it out to take care of his business on his own. If he couldn't, well, Feral would probably just bitch him out before giving him a hand and sending him back to bed or something. He could at least say he tried.

He took the long route, keeping his hand against the walls or furniture just in case, and did manage to not embarrass himself in the bathroom this time. Instead of returning to the bedroom when he was done, however, he took himself on a little detour to the kitchen. Turned out he was hungry too (that was a first in a long time), and the clock in the front room revealed it to be a bit closer to dawn than he'd originally thought. That was a lot of sleep for him, making it no wonder that he was up so early. It wouldn't last long, though, not with his body still recuperating. He'd probably be in the process of involuntarily passing out again on his favorite couch before Feral even got up.

Nothing in his kitchen looked appealing except whatever kind of soycaf blend was on his counter that Feral had picked up somewhere. Shrugging, he got that started and made a call out to his diner. He wanted waffles, and it just so happened that they delivered. Not really, but he was a regular customer who always tipped incredibly well, so they were sometimes willing to send Razz (the kitchen help) up to his place with an order if they could spare him. He just wasn't sure if they could spare him _now_when they were just opening up to their early bird, morning work-rush customers.

"Please," he begged Veronica, the gal who ran the counter. "I can't come down, V, I've been really sick."

"Right, sick, which is why you can pound down two orders?" she sassed back.

Ghost sighed. "No, I've got someone staying here to help me. Seriously, I can't even walk more than a few feet without getting winded. Send Razz up to see for himself, I guarantee he'll vouch for me. I damn near died a few days ago, I was so sick. I'll pay extra. Come on, I haven't eaten anything solid in like a week."

"Then you probably shouldn't be starting with waffles, should you?"

He was failing so hard at this. "V. Please. When was the last time I begged you?"

A hesitation. He might win this round, after all. Almost. "I'll tell you what, if you're really that sick then I'll compromise and send you up some special oatmeal. Your nurse or whatever can have the waffles, but you have to promise me you won't eat them. Is that fair?"

"Fine," he whined. He could settle for special oatmeal. They knew how he liked it, and that probably _was_better for his system. "You're the best, V."

"Whatever. You owe me a date. At Cardigan's."

"Done."

"And Brandon?" she cut in before he could hang up. "You sound good this morning, more like yourself. Keep that up. We sort of missed you."

The comm cut off, leaving him a little surprised. He hadn't been expecting a compliment...or anyone to ever say that they "missed him." At least no one except his drug dealers, anyway. Settling back into the couch cushions, he mulled that over in his head while he waited for Razz to show up with his breakfast.

* * *

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Five

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: Oh my gosh! There's actually some humor in this chapter! And flirting. Things are getting…interesting.

Also, I keep forgetting to do this because I am such a major slacker, but I'm a member of a forum called The Beta Branch, which specializes in connecting authors with betas and vice versa. The difference between this and the FFN set-up is that you get the added benefit of having multiple betas going over your work. Since we all have different betaing styles, this is especially helpful because it catches things that might go unnoticed by one person. We are looking for new members. If you think this is something that would interest you, stop on by: thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

She was dreaming of the beach again. Teva often did if she allowed herself to contemplate it. The shoreline had been a favorite place of hers growing up, a refuge from the chaotic, electronically infused world they lived in. The beach was quiet, peaceful, particularly if she took the tram down the islands, and went to Tierra Verde, the tiny island that was still, after all this time, mostly occupied by a national park. No one was allowed to build on Tierra Verde anymore.

The hurricanes came and destroyed the homes, and the park authorities bought up the land, cleared out the debris, and let the wild retake it. There were a few buildings left, at least there had been the last time she'd gone there, a couple of private condos on one side, and a few old homes that were standing the test of time on the other. Near the tram station, there was a small building that doubled as a gift shop, but the park's actual check-in station was still in the old location further down the road. Someday they would reclaim the island, and magicians would push their magic into the land, aiding in the wildlife reclamation process.

As a child, she'd spent a lot of time on Tierra Verde, sitting on the beaches or under the trees, simply existing. It was the closest she had ever been to peace. Being oneself in the ghetto was a hard task to accomplish. There weren't many options for girls like her. It seemed that she could become another streetwalker, or a ganger. Normal jobs were pretty much outside of her reach, because if anyone ever found out that her SIN was fake, she was doomed to either be imprisoned or deported.

With the hot, white sand burning underneath her back, and her face tipped up to the sky, Teva saw the storm roll in, quick and sudden. The clouds obscured her vision, and cold, sharp pellets of rain began to beat down on her flushed skin, leaving little cuts. She tried to get up, to find shelter, but a hand held her still. Fighting it was impossible, and she could not see her captor, only sense it.

She woke tangled in blankets, sprawled across the bed. A shiver ran through her, and slowly Feral sat up, letting her breath ease back to normal. She was alone. An unusual sorrow began to work its way through her as she realized this. Ignoring it, Teva inhaled deeply once more, and smelled food accompanied with voices.

The thought of food was a cheering one, and she shook off the dregs of the strange dream, crawling out of the bed that looked like it had been the epicenter of a very small cyclone. Padding out of the room, Feral was greeted by the sight of Ghost leaning in the doorway talking to another man. Her senses sharpened, narrowing on the take-out boxes he was balancing. That was the source of the delicious aromas; that was her target. Moving stealthily, she crept up on her goal, and snaked her hands out to grasp the boxes. The man she didn't know looked startled by her sudden appearance, and his grip tightened automatically.

Feral shot him a look like a hungry tiger sizing up her next kill and wondering just how much trouble he was going to be. "If you know what's good for you, you will surrender the edibles to my care," she stated in a very clipped, formal manner.

He let go.

She walked away to the kitchen, sparing neither one of the men a second look. Mission: accomplished. The food went on the counter. Next was soycaf. That was very important. Teva set the pot to brew, and opened the kitchen window again so that she could smoke while she waited. She didn't listen in on Brandon's conversation because that was rude, and frankly, she didn't care. It was too early for curiosity. She needed the essentials first and foremost, then the non-essentials like some quality time in the bathroom, and finally, time to plot. The 'run had to go down tonight, which meant she needed to run reconnaissance prior to ascertain that Skeeter was not an idiot. If he was, then the 'run directive had changed from a simple sneak 'n creep to "hunt that asshole down, and get her shit back right after settling their differences with extreme violence."

Pitching her cigarette, Teva poured herself a large mug of soycaf, and found a fork, intent on devouring her food with single-minded intensity until the tension in her stomach eased. The oatmeal was of no interest to her; she set it aside, and opened the boxes, discovered blueberry waffles, and little packets of butter and syrup. There was a god. Half-slumped on the counter, head propped up on her fist, she began to eat.

* * *

Brandon had just slipped back off into a doze when the knock came on the door. It was soft and subtle, as was Razz's nature, but in Brandon's head it briefly translated to the night when Lonnie was so drunk off his ass that the boys were sure he'd kill them without even realizing it. They'd moved a dresser over the attic hatch and sat back in a corner huddled together while he pounded on it, screaming threats that no child should be privy to hearing. Lucky for them, he was so far gone and uncoordinated that it didn't occur to him to use his magic to blast his way in, and at one point he'd fallen off the fold-down stairs. He passed out where he was on the floor, not remembering a damn thing the next morning when he came up to find everything in the room exactly where it should be and the boys feigning ignorance and innocence better than most adults could. Brandon had learned how to pretend at a very early age.

The nightmare was more of a quick vision, lasting just a couple of seconds before he snapped back to awareness and realized what was going on. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and ambled carefully over to the door, smiling before he even opened it.

"Hey, Razz. What's up, man?" He leaned into the door frame, hoping it looked more lazy/casual and less 'If I'm not propped against this thing I'm going to fall on my ass.'

Razz blinked at him for a few seconds. "Uh...you look...how are you feeling?"

Ghost snorted out a light laugh. "Better, believe it or not. I _told_V I was sick."

"Yeah, I didn't think...geezus, did you really almost die?"

_Wasn't the first time,_he refrained from answering. He hadn't seen any reason to involve his diner people in his life dramas. They weren't actually friends, after all.

"It was a close-" he started to say when Feral practically pounced from out of nowhere, scaring the bejeezus out of Razz. If he hadn't bit his lip he would've laughed at the look on the guy's face, but Razz was a little sensitive sometimes and he didn't want to hurt his feelings. It was probably good that she'd taken the boxes, anyway. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to get them back into the kitchen while also trying to keep himself balanced.

"Is that your nurse?" Razz asked incredulously when she vanished almost as quickly as she had appeared.

Ghost smiled. "No, she's just a...helping me. Until I get better." He had almost said 'friend' but wasn't entirely certain if that was the proper word for it. He was honestly probably more like a...pet project for her until she finished her 'run. Then she'd go back home and probably forget that he ever existed unless she needed to do another job out this way.

"Hope that's soon, 'cause she looks kinda scary," Razz commented, keeping his voice low, once again almost bringing Ghost to laughter. The guy didn't know the half of how scary she could be. Skeeter had been the lucky one to find that out first hand.

Feeling himself tiring of standing so long, Ghost decided it was time to wrap up the conversation. He wanted to eat too. "Hey, thanks for bringing that stuff up. I'll cred a little tip to your account, and tell V we'll do that date when I'm doing better, alright?"

Razz nodded, but leaned in closer so he could tell Brandon something else. He looked a little uncomfortable with whatever he was going to say, which meant it probably had something to do with- "Gabe asked about you. What should I tell him?"

"Tell him I'm sick," Ghost said with a shrug. It was the truth, and it was all the involvement Razz needed to have with the dealer. That was a non-issue Ghost could handle later. The guys wouldn't start anything at the diner, too respectful of the owners to cause problems with their staff, and it's not like he owed the guy money or anything. He would just have to tell Gabe some other time that his services would no longer be needed.

He said his goodbyes to Razz and leaned back against the door for a minute, eyeing the distance to the kitchen and comparing it to that of the couch. He chose the couch.

"Feral, when you're done stuffing your face you wanna bring me my oatmeal? Please and thank you?" He shot her a smile as he sank back down into the cushions.

Her middle finger shot up automatically as the words "stuffing your face" left Ghost's mouth. She felt sensitive that morning, and wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just the fact that she was still waking up. Maybe.

Deep down inside, she knew that wasn't the reason. It was that the comment reminded her of Red, and those little remarks that drove her insane. Always critiquing, picking at her... She got it, okay? Her manners weren't the best, she wasn't obsessively neat, and... Why was it always the thoughtless comments that hurt the most?

Biting her lip, she turned away from that line of thinking. Teva knew Ghost didn't mean it like that. It was just...a thoughtless comment.

Without a verbal response, Feral fished a spoon out of the silverware drawer, and picked up the container of oatmeal, walking it over to the couch. She was very careful to conduct the hand-off without a hint of what was going on beneath the surface, though somewhere within she supposed that a perceptive person would be able to discern from her absolute stillness that she was in a bad mood, or maybe they'd just take the easy way out and chalk it up to morning crankiness. People often only saw what they expected to see. Asking them to analyze beyond the surface was for most simply too much effort.

Returning to the kitchen, she cleaned up the rest of the food, put it in the fridge, and dragged her bag into the bathroom with her. The shower was punishingly hot, and loud enough that nobody could hear her crying in the event that she started to sob.

Letting go was always the hardest part. Red had been the thing she secretly wanted. It was the first time in a long time she'd felt that way about anything, and it was a particularly strange desire because...well, he wasn't really very nice to her. She retaliated passive-aggressively, he made more snide remarks; the cycle went on. She supposed she hadn't really been dealing with the emotional fallout from her one moment of bravery and subsequent rejection.

One little comment.

It was amazing how one tiny phrase could reduce a person to rubble.

Oh god, he'd upset her. It wasn't just the fact that she had flipped him the bird. Her whole demeanor wasn't...right, but he didn't know how to fix it. She was in the bathroom with the shower running before he could even think to apologize for...whatever it was exactly that she was mad at. Did she think he was treating her too much like the hired help? He had said please and thank you...maybe that wasn't enough. He should've gotten his own food. It wasn't fair to ask her to do everything for him, not when he still felt like he didn't really deserve it from her. Maybe she was starting to think the same way. He'd have to try very hard to be more independent from here on out and hoped that would be enough.

But was she going to stay mad at him long enough to not come back to the bedroom tonight?

He flashed on the knot in the headboard, to Gabe's commlink number, to him sitting back enjoying a hit coursing through his veins. The untainted wrist got its first sting of the rubber band. He needed to make her not mad at him.

Leaving his food untouched, he shuffled over to the bathroom and slid down to the ground with his back up against the doorway. "So...I was thinking..." he started, just throwing shit out there that might make her happy, "Since Skeeter might be a problem, and since I was the one that put his name on your list, it would only be fair if I helped you out with this 'run. I could go in, give you some eyes on the inside. Not much for backup in a fight, I know, but still. Wouldn't hurt to have someone keeping a lookout, right? I wouldn't even have to pose as a monk or anything. I can go in just as I am - a recovering shithead just seeking out some spiritual guidance or something. Those monks would eat it up like a kid picking up a stray puppy. You don't even have to pay me for it. We can call it even for you putting up with all my bullshit. What do you think?"

Ghost's voice penetrated the thin bathroom door and the loud waterfall of the shower head against the inside of the tub, interrupting her moment of quiet contemplation. It was probably better that way, she thought, putting her palms flat against the slick tile wall, and leaning forward with a little sigh. Introspection was a sure way to drive herself off the deep end. It wasn't like her. Feral was normally neatly compartmentalized. It was really the only way she knew how to function. If she had an allergy, besides her body's aversion to simsense, it would be emotions, though the phrase 'emotionally constipated' probably held more truth than an allergy.

Attempting to put something resembling cheer or lightheartedness in her voice, Teva called back, "I was kinda planning on hitting the place at night. Less people likely to be walking around!"

She looked around for her shampoo, and realized with a start that in her haste to cover up the sound of her sadness, she'd forgotten to unpack her toiletries, and now they were on the other side of the bathroom, still zipped up in her bag. Tired of her own inadequacies (and the day had barely started!), Feral let her forehead thump against the tile a few times. She contemplated getting out to fetch them, then thought 'fuck it,' and started popping the caps on the bottles already in the shower.

Just in case Ghost didn't understand the significance of her statement, she clarified, "The temple closes its doors at night, nobody in there but monks, and most of them hit the hay after their nightly prayers...which go on for two hours! They're up before dawn every day, and they don't go to sleep until after eleven."

There was the cookie crap, and it smelled kind of like _girl_. It was more girl than the other bottle of body wash, which smelled mostly of chemicals that the corps marketed with names like "sea breeze" and "fresh linen" and "Caribbean cotton surprise" or some other totally bullshit, completely inaccurate name. She detected just a whiff of ylang-ylang. She used the latter because some contradictory part of her needed to defy the convention that "girls were made of sugar, spice, and everything nice." Teva wasn't made of sugar or anything sweet. She was bitter and acrid like burning sage, rich and cloying like patchouli or sandalwood.

She scrubbed her skin quickly, and lathered her hair with whatever Brandon had used the night before. Her hair wouldn't tangle, so she didn't worry about the lack of conditioner.

Cranking the tap off, Teva snagged the towel she'd left on the toilet seat lid, and patted down briefly before stepping out, wrapping it around her like a dress. "Unless you have a better idea?" the adept added as she bent down close to the door, digging through her bag for her toothbrush.

_Better idea...better idea...better idea..._

God, he couldn't _think_when his head was still scrambled. If he was healthy he'd just go with her on the break-in. That was kind of one of his specialties normally, but as he was now he'd only get in her way, be a liability. He didn't particularly like the idea of her going out there on her own with no one watching her back though, not when Skeeter was still a potential-

Now _there_was an idea...

"Neutralize the threat," he thought out loud, then pushed himself to his feet and stumbled back to the couch where his comm was sitting on the coffee table. He was such an idiot. This should've occurred to him sooner, before Skeeter even had a chance to _become_a real threat.

Dialing Skeeter's number, it came as no surprise that it was no longer in use. The guy wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but he wasn't a complete moron, either. Not that it really mattered. Ghost knew all of Skeeter's regular contacts; it was his business to know these things. He tried the least likely person the man would run to, which actually made it the _most_likely person.

"Trick, this is Ghost. I'll credit you five hundred nuyen if you put Skeeter on the line."

The Irishman tsked at him. "Now rumor has it you've been a bad boy, Ghost; that you've gone and run off with a slitch that stiffed ol' Skeeter on a job. He's told everyone about that. No one's goin' to tell you where he is, even for a _thousand_nuyen."

"Well, Skeeter's a fucking dumbass, and so is anyone else who actually believes him. If he'd done his job and stayed out of my way, we wouldn't have a problem right now. It took me fucking forever to gain that bitch's trust, and he damn near blew my cover."

He glanced up as Feral stepped out of the bathroom, pressed a finger to his lips so she'd stay quiet, and gave her a little wink.

Feral obeyed his shushing gesture, and padded into the kitchen, opening the window again to smoke and cool her skin, which was still a little red. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, but no socks or shoes, and no weapons which was highly unusual for her in a foreign environment. It was a testament to the amount of bonding they'd undergone in the past week.

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Yer cover?"

"Yeah, my cover, dickweed. You guys should know me fucking better than that. You really think I wasn't all over this thing from the start? Now put Skeeter on the line so I can get him and whatever fuck-up team he's putting together in on this before they blow my chance."

"Ey, I _am_part of that 'fuck-up' team, so watch yer mouth," Trick snapped. "Now what's this cut you're talkin' about?"

"Put Skeeter on the line and you'll find out," Ghost suggested. He waited a beat, then curled his fist in victory when Skeeter's voice came on.

"This had better be fucking good," Skeeter growled, "because I swear if this is any sort of double-cross, I'll-"

"Shut the fuck up, you little shit, and listen to me," Ghost ordered angrily. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are that she didn't kill you yesterday? Fuck, man, I thought you were smarter than that. I almost shot you myself, but I felt kinda bad that she bit your fucking ear off. If you'd laid low, I'd have given you a fair cut of this thing once I popped her and got the statue for myself." He quickly shook his head at Feral with an apologetic look. "But since you decided it'd be fun to beat the shit out of me while I had to lay there and pretend to be helpless, you're only getting a quarter of the profit."

"A quarter? That's not so bad," Skeeter remarked.

"To split between you and the rest of your team," Ghost added, continuing before the guy could object. "I'm guessing you're still playing monk? You probably have your guys waiting outside until everyone's asleep, then you just let them in and hang around, hoping to find the bitch and take her out once she nabs the goods?"

Skeeter stumbled over his words. "Well...yeah...I mean, it's the easiest way..."

"You're an idiot," Ghost sighed. "This is why you're never team leader. If you _did_manage to catch her in the act, she'd kill you all before you got near her. Listen, let me in with your guys, I can tell you exactly when she's coming, show you exactly what entrance she's going to be using, what her exit plans are, what weapons she'll have on her, everything. We let her do all the work in getting the statue out just like you planned, but we take her down when and how I tell you to. Is that understood?"

"What, you're just going to tell me what to do? Take over just like that? I didn't put you in charge, Ghost."

Leaning forward on the couch cushion, Ghost put his coldest tone into his voice. "No. You didn't. I did. Let me spell this out for you, Skeeter: you do this just like I tell you or you're dead, plain and simple. Why? Because if you don't then you're just going to be in her way _and_ mine, which means if she doesn't kill you, I will. I already let you off the hook once, Skeeter. It won't happen again."

She listened in, smothering her amusement and the fact that she was secretly impressed. For some reason, Teva hadn't pictured Ghost as too authoritarian, but he managed to put Skeeter in his place with a few well-placed words. Even knowing he was weak, recovering didn't alter the effect his voice had on her, on the belief she had that he could follow through on what he was saying. Damn, he was good.

Ghost held his breath as Skeeter thought over the threat.

"Fine, alright, you're in. If she gets away, though, I have my guys shoot you right there in the temple."

"Fair enough," Ghost said, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling in silent thanks. "Hey, I gotta let you go, she's coming back. I'll call you later with the details. Don't do anything until you hear from me."

"No," Skeeter answered quickly. "I'm going to stick with my original plan in case she outsmarts you like she tried to do me. My team comes in every night, just in case. That way if you're wrong, and she comes on a night when you aren't here, we still get the statue and I don't have to worry about giving you a cut."

_Shit._ "Waste of fucking time and nuyen, but whatever. You're paying your guys for that, not me."

Teva leaned against the windowsill, blowing smoke rings outside until Ghost ended the call.

He cut the line and looked at Feral. "Okay, so Skeeter's got a team ready and waiting for you. If he went to Trick for help, that'll make five of them counting Skeeter. Dumb as bricks when it comes to most things, but they make up for it in this weird combination of stealth tactics and brute force. You can either chance it with them on your own, or let me tell them the plan's going down tonight, which'll get me on the inside with the team. That'll be sooner than Skeeter's expecting so it'll probably throw them off a little, anyway, and I could steer them off course the rest of the way long enough for you to get in, do your thing, and get back out. They'll never even know you were there until it's too late."

Her first words, rather than a response to his offer, was to say, "That was impressive. I think I underestimated your skills." She shot him a lop-sided grin. Then with a more somber expression, she asked, "Do you think you can handle being on the team? Physically, I mean. You're still...regaining your strength. Because I won't lie, it'd be useful, but I don't want you out there if you think you can't do it. Your health is more important than my stupid 'run."

Brandon scoffed inwardly. His health was more important than...

That was stupidly noble. The only reason she was even down here was because of the 'run. If she didn't finish it then she would've gone through all this trouble completely for nothing. Hell, she even actually _paid_Skeeter for his part already. There was no way Brandon was going to let her leave without some sort of compensation, and he sure as hell couldn't pay her whatever she'd be making on the statue. He had no idea how much that would be, but based on how pissed off Skeeter was, it was probably a sizable amount. She wasn't going to give that up for him, not if he had anything to say about it.

"Well," he started, reaching for his oatmeal, "I'm going to eat this..." Putting a spoonful in his mouth, he grimaced as he swallowed, then lowered the bowl back to his lap. "I'm going to heat it up, _then_ eat it, and that'll put something in my system. After that, I'll probably call Skeeter back to set things up for tonight, hash out some time for us to talk about your B&E plans so I know where _not_ to lead the team, sleep for the rest of the day and maybe eat something else when I get up so I have as much energy as possible, and..." The look he was giving her was a questioning one, asking for her opinion or maybe even her permission - probably both. "I was thinking maybe just for this thing it might not be too bad if I slapped on a stim patch or five- joking about the five. Maybe two, though."

Nibbling on her lip, Teva thought about it, really, seriously contemplated letting Ghost have a stim patch or two. "Here's the thing," she declared finally, "I'm concerned about letting you have a stim patch because you just got clean. One patch could lead to another, and then the next thing you know you're paying a visit to your old dealer. I can't...I just don't think it's a good idea, testing your self-control like this straight out of your withdrawal period."

She pitched her cigarette out the window, and walked into the living room, almost like she was pacing. Covering it up smoothly, Feral snagged the oatmeal out of Ghost's hands, and took it back to the kitchen to heat up. The process went quickly, and while she was watching the countdown on the microwave, she finally spat out the thought that was rolling around in her head like a marble. "I'm really reluctant to pump any sort of drugs into your system, and to be perfectly honest with you, which I usually am-" she added, glancing up and shooting him a little grin, "It's kind of a character flaw, this insatiable need I have to speak my mind. Anyway, I know you're trying to help, probably because you feel obligated due to the fact that my efforts single-handedly kept you from death's doorstep-" Her smile might have turned a touch prideful at that, but she carefully directed it to the microwave door. "-But you don't need to. I would be super pissed off if your efforts to assist me cancelled out my efforts to get you clean. I might be driven to take you over my knee and tan your ass like a misbehaving child. It's either that or strangle you in my exasperation." Teva winked jokingly, but it was clear that she was being serious about the 'if you negate my efforts, I will be angry' thing.

"Unfortunately, I'm not a magician. I don't have any spells to make you instantly feel better. That would be entirely too convenient," she chuckled, snagging the oatmeal out of the microwave, and bringing it back to him. "I can ease pain through touch, but that's about it. So if you're hurting, let me know. That's the most I'm capable of," she sighed, easing herself onto the opposite side of the couch, and handing the oatmeal over. "I just don't want you to screw up your sobriety two days after you finally stop throwing up."

Teva frowned thunderously at his expression, and cut off whatever he was about to say. "And I know you think that's stupid, but here's the thing: it's just money, it's just a job. It's not like I can't get more of both. It's not like I haven't spent most of my life putting guys like Skeeter in check. I can handle whatever he wants to throw at me, and then some. I'm like the most resilient, persistent little bitch you'll ever meet. Don't...I didn't come here for back-up; I came to L.A. to be alone." Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them defensively, and waited for whatever retarded rebuttal Ghost was going to come up with.

"Funny," he said quietly with a soft smile after a long moment of reflective silence, "that whole 'being alone' thing? Being alone, dying alone, it was kind of my game plan until you showed up and shook my crazy little snowglobe around so bad that I don't even know what direction I'm facing anymore. The only thing that's clear now, that I can see straight through the blizzard, is that I _don't_ want to be alone, and I don't think you really do either; otherwise you wouldn't be here using me as a distraction, right? So here's the thing - if you go do this job tonight I'm coming whether you want me there or not, because if Skeeter and his flying monkeys manage to take you out, leaving me with knowing I could've done _something_to help you, I won't be able to handle that. All your hard work will go right down the drain, anyway, because the thought of you not coming back frankly scares the hell out of me."

Setting his bowl back on the table once again, he leaned closer to her and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "I don't have nightmares about you any more, Teva. Somewhere in the middle of this you became the one that keeps the nightmares away, and if you don't come back..."

He shook his head and sat back again. "But since I already fucked up your whole 'I came here to be alone' plans, I'd feel kind of bad if my retardedly heroic obsession to watch your back made you nix your whole job entirely, so maybe we can compromise, because I'm not good with having to carry around that much guilt. You already know that." A pointed stare was shot in her direction. "We still go in tonight, but instead of me playing mouse to five cats while you do your nab and grab thing, I play cheese to one mouse at a time, and _you_ be the cat. I'll split them up, station them around the building, then you can take them out one at a time. Once the threat is cleared, you still get your statue, they don't kill me in the end for _letting_you get the statue - the fact that I'm even telling you that part of their plan right now should say something, by the way - and I don't really need any energy boosters because I won't be doing anything overly physical. That'll be your job."

Abruptly pushing himself off the couch, he made his way towards the bedroom, talking as he went, "Just to show you how much I think I _can_ pull this off without any extra help, and because I really, _really_ can't stand the thought of making you mad at me for potentially destroying all your efforts..." Disappearing in to the bedroom for a minute, he came back out with something in his fist. When he got to the couch he leaned over the back of it and grasped her hand, putting his little emergency stash in her palm and folding her fingers around it.

"Without that, I am completely dependent on you to get me through the night, so I guess this is me _massively_ flunking out of Being Alone 101. You know what, though? I don't really give a shit. I want to be a little more focused on getting a passing grade in Quit Being a Little Emo Bitch." He looked straight into her eyes and smiled as he was hit with a sudden realization.

His face only inches from hers, he ventured quietly, "See, I think I might be kind of developing this little thing for the professor."

_That was not a retarded rebuttal,_Teva's brain smugly told her.

And...wait, what? She was looking at the little stash of pills in her hand, flipping them over one by one to examine the markings, identifying those that she could. Her brain stuttered.

_See, I think I might be kind of developing this little thing for the professor..._

"Me?" Teva squeaked incredulously, glancing around quickly as though Ghost might be speaking to someone else. "I- That is, um..." _Oh god_. "Oh god," she blurted out, clapping a hand over her mouth immediately after as her cheeks began to burn. Damn that fair complexion. Why was she so _awkward_all the time, without fail? Any sort of emotion involved in a situation, and she turned into a bull in a china shop. Her hand folded tightly over the drugs, and her palms started sweating.

He was too close, his gaze too intent. It made her want to squirm. Not necessarily bad squirming, but just...squirming. Uncomfortable, awkward squirming. Feral forced her body to remain still.

Moving her hand away from her mouth, Teva very slowly drawled, "That's...nice?" The inquisitive end to the phrase was completely unintentional.

His heart about sunk in his chest at that, and he pulled back just slightly as she continued to address everything but his profession of...not love but definitely having feelings. 'Nice' with a question mark was another way of saying, "Oh, that's so sweet, honey, and I'm flattered, but I just don't feel the same way, and I really want to stay friends with you so why don't we just forget that you ever asked?"

It was actually exactly the thing a professor might say to a younger student when they didn't want to hurt their feelings, and internally going over all the things they might have done to accidentally make the student experience any sort of inappropriate attraction.

Accidentally. Inappropriate.

Clearing her throat, she made herself make eye contact. "Quit Being a Little Emo Bitch is a very important class, and it's...good to know you've been paying attention, so..." Shit, her brain was still stuck on the 'crush on the teacher' comment. _Focus, Teva, focus._

He should've kept his mouth shut. Now it was going to be awkward. It was already awkward. This was kind of new territory for him too, considering his norm was to pick up a girl for a night or a few days or whatever just for some companionship. It was unusual to have anything more for a girl than just physical attraction or friendshipy feelings. The fact that it actually stung knowing Feral clearly didn't want-

"Alright," she stated abruptly, "You be the cheese. I will come around and take out all the mice." Nodding succinctly, Teva moved as though she was going to get up, then paused. She really ought to make some sort of formal response to Bran's admission rather than stuttering incoherently. After all, her main problem with interpersonal relationships seemed to be effective communication (apparently grade school flirtation tactics weren't considered viable once you became an adult).

"This-" she gestured vaguely between them, "-is not my forte. Fair warning. I'm like a wild mustang. I must be coaxed into a river, and then quickly jumped on. Following this, I will try to throw you off with every ounce of strength I possess. I don't know why I'm like this, so don't ask; I just _am_." With a deep breath, Teva slid off the couch, and started walking backwards toward the bathroom, adding with a little grin, "But, you know, you're not bad." Winking, she fled behind the bathroom door to finish getting ready, and flush the pills in her hand.

Taming mustangs? Was she giving him some sort of weird advice on how to pursue this?

With a smile. And a wink? Those were good things, right? Promising things? Or was she just trying to smooth things over, humor him a little so he wouldn't be tempted to go step off another curb or something because she'd rejected him? He'd humored a girl or two in his time, and it kind of seemed like that (especially following a 'that's nice' - question mark!), but it also seemed kind of flirty. What if it _wasn't_ flirty, though, and he flirted back, making her feel more uncomfortable and thus chasing her off? But what if it _was_, and then if he _didn't_ pursue it, _her_feelings might be hurt and that would be even worse? 'Hurt feelings' running off was worse than 'uncomfortable' running off, wasn't it?

He _really_should've kept his mouth shut. All these questions were too much for his brain right now, and all the confusion was too much for his still unstable emotional state. Things were a hell of a lot easier when his only thoughts were on Lonnie and dying.

Eating just for the sake of eating now and not so much because he was hungry, he let the questions run circles in his head, not having a fucking clue where he should go from there. All he knew for sure was that he'd just royally fucked up their dynamic, and he kind of wished he could take it back.

* * *

Leaning against the closed door, Feral concentrated on slowing down her heartbeat for awhile, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. She finally got up the guts to throw herself at Red, and a few weeks later she was already moving on to someone else? What kind of person did that make her? Was she really so fickle, so desperate for attention?

She rubbed her hands over her face. A sudden thought occurred to her. _Is it possible to like two people at once?_ If her emotions were any indication, it was. Her feelings for Red were all tied up and twisted, the threads of her affection bound equally with anger and resentment built up from years of knowing one another, pretending that the things he said did not affect her, that she did not want him. It brought a tight, hard ball to being in her chest; it didn't feel good. What she'd felt for Red had never been anything that felt good.

Examining what she felt for Ghost was easier. He was new and different; exciting. He was open, and willing to share. Already she knew more about Ghost than she did about Red after working with the man for three years. He didn't want to be alone, and in her heart of hearts, neither did she. Red did; Red wanted to spend his life doing penance for a crime he didn't really commit.

Teva realized with a start that she understood Brandon on some level, that they related to one another. They may not have spent an exorbitant amount of time talking or whatever, but there was something there, some spark. The same spark that had hit her like a semi-truck in a motel room full of 'runners, and had her literally sitting on her hands, striving for self-control. She'd attributed it to the pheromones at the time, but looked back, though that was a part of it, that wasn't the full reason. After all, pheromone implants were an artificial reproduction of the same thing, genetically tailored to mimic a person's natural pheromone secretions._ The primary functions of pheromones were to attract a mate._The attraction was genuine, just enhanced due to his implants and her sense of smell.

...And that was why she hadn't killed him when he'd had her pinned on the storage room floor: she'd liked him. It had nothing to do with the job, with his usefulness to the team. It was just about her. Shit. Shit. "Shit," she hissed out loud, "How am I such an idiot? Self-analysis, what's that?"_ And the award for Obliviousness goes to...Feral!_

It was amazing what a few minutes alone in a bathroom could accomplish. Feral got rid of the pills that Brandon had willingly surrendered, and took some time with her eyeliner, drawing in thin, dark Cleopatra lines, then smearing a little plum near the outer corners. She put lip color on too, just the light, neutral color she preferred that lay somewhere between pink and mauve with a little brown in it so as not to be obnoxious. Once it dried, Teva sank her teeth into her bottom lip. "Do not channel your inner teenage girl," she whispered sternly to the woman in the mirror. "Business; focus on business." She combed her hair, then messed it up a little with her fingertips, thinking it looked a little too contrived.

"Idiot," she told herself, and decided to stop fussing.

As she was peeing, it occurred to her for the first time that she hadn't touched base with Madden in four days. "Motherfuck," Feral groaned. He was probably going apeshit, thinking she was dead or something equally ridiculous. As soon as she was done, and hauling the giant obstruction of her bag out of the bathroom with her, she began calling him.

Unsurprisingly, he answered with a bellow. "Teva? Where the hell have you been? Four days, Teva! Four days!"

"Yeah," she agreed breezily, "I've been pretty busy."

"What is going on? Teva, if you are trying to give me a heart attack, I swear-!"

"You're upset," Feral cooed, "I'll call back later." She hung up. When Madden called back immediately after, she sent it to the voicemail box. Glancing at Ghost, she smiled and shrugged. "Madden. He worries like a mother hen."

"So," she drawled, eyeing the trid skeptically, "You know how to make the stuff on the comm display on the trid? 'Cause I sure as hell don't, but I know it's possible, and if you're coming with tonight, we need to make a plan."

Ooookay, so apparently she was going with the whole 'let's act completely normal and just pretend nothing happened' approach. That was probably for the best. They had a 'run to do, and if they didn't want to wind up dead that had to take first priority. Worrying about the fact that she was now fully clothed and ready, and he was still sitting there kind of sickly in his tank and boxers, feeling a little more vulnerable than usual, had to be put on the back burner.

His mostly untainted wrist got its second snap of the rubberband, and he wondered briefly if he shouldn't move it back to the other one. That snap against his raw skin would burn a lot more, and pain could sometimes be a very welcoming distraction.

"Is that a you and Switch thing?" he asked, clearing his throat to put himself back in business mode. "I usually just do group visuals in Matrix meets or swap AR schematics through the PAN. If you want it on trid I can probably be talked through it pretty easily though. Might be kind of a handy thing to know how to do."

"How do I put this succinctly...?" Teva wondered aloud. "Ah!" She held up a finger in the 'eureka!' pose. "If simsense were peanuts, I would carry around epi-pens."

Smiling sheepishly, she clarified, "Too much exposure makes me very ill. I can spend anywhere from hours to days suffering from too much Matrix time. Usually it's a lot like motion sickness-doctors actually do call it 'simsense vertigo'-but if I get attacked while I'm in the Matrix, I suffer dumpshock like whoa. I once spent four days in a coma because of shit like that. After, I just accepted the fact that my body can't handle Matrix tech the way other people's can, so I tend to run my comm on passive or hidden mode all the time, and for specific purposes. Basically, if I can externally manifest the stuff on my comm it saves me a lot of trouble."

"Come to think of it," she plopped on the couch near Brandon, not so near that they were touching, but definitely closer than her previous position of pressed-against-the-opposite-end, "That's probably the primary reason why I'm so obsessed with older stuff like books and junk. Well, that and we didn't have a lot of technology when I was younger. We couldn't afford it. I didn't have a comm until I was ten, and the very first day I wore it into the city, I made myself terribly sick. Spent the whole night puking up the contents of my stomach, and then some. Of course, it took a few more times before my _mama_-" She said the last word with an obvious lilting accent, dropping into her mother's language as she usually did when thinking of her childhood. "-figured out what was happening. I saw a lot of doctors before someone knew what to actually call it. It's pretty rare, the simsense vertigo."

He cocked his head slightly as she sat down on the couch, trying to read her as was his old habit of picking up all the little tells that he could play off a person, using them for fuel so he could integrate himself into a circle of trust that much faster.

_Shit._

Was this how it was going to be from here on out? Him studying her like he would a mark, searching for any sign that maybe she felt something for him other than a driving need to help the pity case? Probably. At least until he knew for sure which way he was supposed to be reacting to her earlier brush off/invitation.

Pressing her lips together, Teva's slanted her gaze over at Brandon. "Sorry," she stated, "That's kind of boring, isn't it? Anyway, I just wanted you to know why I'm such a technological retard. So yeah, I guess if you have pen and paper, I could draw the layout, or I can call Switch and make him tell us how to make the trid-comm thing go."

"I always have pen and paper," he laughed lightly as he eyed the pathway of journals that still swirled around his apartment. "But why don't we give Switch a call. I haven't talked to him since..." Shooting her a quick, nervous glance, he altered his choice of words. "It'd be nice to hear from him, see how he's doing. And for the record, learning about you isn't boring." Realizing how that sounded - which was totally true, but he wasn't certain if she'd take that as a good thing - he rushed to correct his phrasing. "Your vertigo thing, I mean. Learning about your vertigo isn't boring. It's kind of fascinating - not in a mutant lab rat kind of way, just in a 'I haven't heard of that before' kind of way...and you can go ahead and call Switch _any_time now before I start choking on the foot in my mouth."

Rolling her eyes, Feral concluded his earlier sentence, "Since Horizon? You can say it, you know. It doesn't bother me. Horizon. Horizon, horizon, horizon. The horizon is a lovely shade of peach in the morning." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully to illustrate that she was not at all concerned with the word, nor did she worry too much about what had happened. "You know I'm over that, right? Like, so over it. Shit goes wrong sometimes when you 'run, and the Horizon job was just another incidence of Murphy's Law-whatever can go wrong, shall."

Leaning closer, she bumped Brandon's shoulder with hers, and glanced up at him from underneath her lashes. "Seriously. Lesson number two in Quit Being a Little Emo Bitch," she joked quietly.

"Anyway," Teva straightened up, ceasing her invasion of his personal space, and dialed out to Switch. "Here goes..."

Okay, so _that_was definitely flirty, he was positive, and he couldn't help the little crooked smile that appeared on his face. Though thinking about it, maybe the whole 'Little Emo Bitch' thing wasn't his best idea. He probably should've known she would take his pet name for this whole 'fix Brandon' project and run with it. Ah well, he could handle the little bit of teasing if it kept her close.

* * *

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Six

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: Thar be RStAT here.

Hey! I'm harassing you again about TBB. Want to try a new way of betaing? The Beta Branch is a community of writers and betas whose emphasis is on multiple betas working in tandem on the same stories/chapters in order to create a more well-rounded beta experience. The benefit of working like this is that writers receive critiques from more than one source, collecting more errors and bringing to light a greater number of suggestions on improving our writing. Check it out: thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

Switch sounded a little winded when he answered the call. "Hi, Feral! What's u- Hey! Ally, sto-" He giggled in a high pitched, almost frantic fashion. "Ally! Stop i- I'm on a call! Oh, you are so dead when I'm done! That was cheating! I called a time out!" There was a little bit of a pause. "Sorry, didn't mean to shout in your ear. We're playing Zombie Wars - oh, that's an AR shooter overlay game in case you didn't know that, which you probably didn't since you don't do the whole meshing in thing - and Ally thinks it's in the rules to use tickle attack. It's cheating. Seriously. Who would tickle a zombie? That's suicide! Anyway, so what's up?"

"Remember that thing you did where you hooked up my book from my comm and projected it through the trid? I need you to walk me through that." She got to the point right away, though she did smile a little at the thought of Switch playing video games with his girlfriend. Oh my god, it was just too adorable. A match made in geek-love heaven.

"Or um, Brandon, yeah, maybe you should walk Brandon through that instead of me," Teva corrected herself weakly with a little laugh, and put the comm on speaker.

"Say hi," she nudged Ghost's shoulder with a grin.

Brandon smiled fondly as he heard Switch's voice, suddenly being struck with the same almost brotherly feelings he'd had back in..._Horizon. She said it's okay to remember without flashing on the bad parts._...the same ones he felt towards Nate. It was strange that he still had that bond now, even after all this time and really without knowing much of anything about the guy, but yet he didn't carry any residual rapey desires towards Feral. Maybe there really _was_something to what Madden had told him that night...

"Hey, Switch, it's Ghost-"

"Feral! You went to see Ghost and you didn't tell me? No, of course you didn't tell me. You're probably doing a job, right? I should come visit some time or something, if that's cool, I mean. I didn't really get a chance to thank you after you, you know, saved my life and everything. I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything," Ghost declined. "Rip did all the work, and my re-infection put everyone else at risk, not me."

"Bullshit," Switch scoffed, causing Ghost to raise a surprised eyebrow at Feral. "They would've killed you if they had to. Nope, you don't get to be all humble. You saved my ass and I owe you for it, so if you ever need me to do anything for you, you call me. That's not a request, either. I mean it. Feral, make sure he has my number in his comm."

Brandon couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him at the notion of Switch sort of laying down the law. Apparently the geeky tech had built up some confidence somewhere along the line since their last meet, and it was a far cry from raising his hand to speak. "Okay, well, I need you right now to walk me through transferring the shit on Feral's comm to the trid. We'll just start with that, alright?"

"No problem."

It was a lot easier to do than Ghost had expected it to be, just a few little tricks with rerouting what signals went where between the trid and the comm. He was about ready to wrap up the call and say goodbye when, once again, Switch interrupted him.

"Hold on, don't go yet. Ally! Come here! ... No, I'm not going to bite you! Unlike_ some people_, I listen to time out rules! ... Ally, say hi to Ghost and Feral."

A few seconds later Ally's voice was on the line. "Hey, Feral. And Ghost, huh? Ghost the Hero?"

_You can be somebody else's hero._

The words made him feel a little uncomfortable. He just couldn't seem to see himself that way, not when he was such a wreck. "No, I'm not, really. I didn't do that mu-"

"Look, I know my boy likes to embellish sometimes," What was those two and interrupting? "Which is pretty impressive considering he managed to tell a pretty fucking good story without actually giving me any details of the 'run, but if he says you saved his life, you saved his life, so I guess I need to thank you for that, 'cause I kinda like the guy. You're ever in DeeCee, swing by The Sanctuary. Switch'll tell you where it is. Drinks are on the house."

"...Thanks..." Brandon answered, not really knowing what else to say. "Look, we gotta run, so-"

Switch jumped back on. "Right, right, okay. Well, have fun, and don't go and get yourselves killed or anything. Give me a call if you need me to do anything else. I can hack stuff from here, and I've got lots of free time."

"Fuckers put him on some sort of blacklist or something," Ally grumbled in the background, obviously pissed off about it. "Feral, you should come back up here and punch more people in the face for him."

"No, it's fine, really. We'll figure it out," Switch assured them all in a lighthearted tone. "I'll let you know how it goes. Anyway, we'll let you get back to work. Catch you guys later."

"See ya," Ghost replied, and arched his eyebrows up at Feral once she said her goodbyes and the line cut out. "He sounds...happy? I think. Different. What'd you do to him?" He punctuated the question with a smile to show her he meant well by it.

With a shrug, and a fond smile firmly in place, Feral admitted, "I don't know if I _did_anything. I shook up his snowglobe a little, maybe, but that was it. The rest is just him." Her smile went thunderous. "Though I'm a little concerned about the fact that he's being blackballed."

She transferred Switch's number over to Ghost's comm, and brought up a fairly detailed projection of the temple on the trid, and more files next to it. The information was from a combination of Skeeter's legwork, and her own with notes on any perceivable patterns, times people left and arrived, when they ate, when they slept, where they slept, and other interesting notes like the monk she'd seen who often took on duties of ministering outside of the temple walls, and had a little habit for prostitutes. There was photographic evidence she'd taken one day as well, and next to his bio in the list, a little note in red that said "blackmail?" It was clear that she'd done extensive research before actually formulating a plan.

Her route in appeared on the building layout in a thick, red line that didn't really say much about what, exactly, she was going to do.

"Switch sustained some permanent damage during the Horizon 'run," Feral explained just in case Ghost didn't know. "It's nothing too severe, but he gets migraines now after he does crazy shit in the nets. People see that as a liability, and it can be if he has to go in and out and back in, but stuff like that is pretty rare. He has medication to control the headaches, but...people are stupid. Frankly, if you ask me, I think it's kind of made him a better 'runner. I don't want to sound like an asshole or anything, but I'm probably going to anyway: the better 'runners understand the risks and are more adverse to failure because they've experienced their consequences. In our world, it's easy to forget that bullets hurt, and poison kills, and when you get a limb chopped off, it's going to hurt like a bitch."

Glancing up, she shrugged. "It should hurt. We're lazy and careless, because we think we can just use magic and technology to fix all our problems. We forget what pain feels like, what it is to suffer and die. The 'runners who remember...those memories act as motivation to succeed." Slipping a hand through her hair, Teva chuckled darkly. "Maybe that's a little morbid, but I truly think it's accurate. That's why I have a lot of scars. They're lessons forever emblazoned in the flesh."

_Or you know it too well and you just don't care anymore,_ Brandon thought darkly, but he pushed it away. He had to try, at least while Feral was still there working her ass off to help him get better - he owed that much to her. Maybe he'd see if she would tell him about her scars, try to understand the value of the lessons she learned from them. His own were all emotional (Lonnie would never leave those types of physical imperfections on their "beautiful" bodies), and he could find no value in them whatsoever, even if they _did_ give him the skill set needed to become a damn good 'runner.

Not that he didn't understand where she was coming from, what she was getting at. Things like Doc Wagon alerts that sent medics swooping in to save you when they weren't wanted - _were_ wanted - had a tendency to make 'runners get a little careless sometimes. It was almost like having some sort of invincibility pass, which was completely fucking retarded. People often forgot about _time_- the time it took for a mage or medic to get there, for a patch to run that race against bleeding out or organs shutting down, for brain cells to start dying left and right while lungs weren't taking in oxygen. Once a 'runner started forgetting about all those things, started believing there'd always be a free ticket out of hell ready and waiting for them, that's when their time would run out. The ones who learned that lesson early and who could hang onto it looked out for themselves a little better, played the game a little smarter.

Unless they just didn't care.

Feral cleared her throat, gesturing vaguely at the screen. "Anyway, as you can see, this is the temple layout. There's an outer wall, and a courtyard which is where the public can come to pray in the daytime. Kali sits in the center, but her shrine is on wheels. When the doors close at the end of the day, she gets moved to this room-" marked with a star on the schematics, "-in the monks' house, and locked up. So...where are some good places for ambushes, you think?"

After she had moved back to talking about her own 'run, and he blinked a few time to get his mind refocused on what they were doing. He was fading out again, his body trying to shut down without his brain's permission, but they needed to get this thing hashed out so he could call Skeeter back. Then he could go crash for the rest of the day if that's what it took to get his energy reserves back up.

They talked about potential spots where it would be feasible for him to get the team to go - the first in a corner of the outer wall where there was some vegetation that would make it easy to get up and down from the wall, and also to hide the downed thug. Another was in the room where the main power box to the building was located, yet another in a hallway beneath a large window that would be a logical place for breaking into the building. They were places that would be convincing for her possible theft route, and if he claimed that he was afraid of her changing some of the details on him last minute, it would make sense that he'd want to split up the team to accommodate for those theoretical changes.

The plan hashed out, it took him a little extra effort to get through his second phone call with Skeeter. Correction - it took him extra effort to think on the fly when the asshole started asking him questions and giving him shit. It took absolutely _zero _effort to sound pissed off and highly threatening, given that he was too utterly exhausted to put up with Skeeter's shit, making him extra cranky.

"Oh my god," he groaned after he ended the call, wiping his hands down his face. "I need to be unconscious." Without thinking about it, he let himself just sort of fall down onto his side, his head in Feral's lap who had just sat back down after having been up and about during his call. One of his arms hooked up over her thighs, covering his face from the light in the process, and it was mere seconds before he felt sleep pulling him under.

Meshing her original plan with Ghost's input went well, but Feral noticed throughout the process that he was starting to drag more and more. It was a lot of action for a man who was still weakened, and she wasn't too surprised when, after he phoned Skeeter, Brandon declared it was time for some rest. What did shock her was when he pillowed his head in her lap, and was asleep within moments.

She was stiff at first, as she usually was when people were unexpectedly affectionate with her, but she didn't move from her spot on the couch. Brandon was tired and needed the rest desperately, and it wasn't like she had anything better to do. Teva whiled away the time reading the remainder of the journal she'd been working on, absently carding her fingers through the head of dark hair in her lap, and finally dozing off for a little while herself.

Brandon started to wake up some time later, his shifting jostling her awake.

She smiled a little in greeting. Her hand was still on his head, and her fingers sifted through his hair again. "Hey. Sleep okay?"

He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to find himself staring up at her, and gave her the quickest flash of a smile back before closing his eyes again and sighing out a long, "Yeah." Lying still for a few extra seconds to allow his brain some time to wake up, he grinned again and mumbled, "You're a liar. This couch is more comfortable than it's ever been." In fact, he could stay there for the rest of the night if they didn't have to-

_The 'run._

His eyes snapped back open as that whole 'am I late for work?' adrenaline began to kick in. "What time is it?" he asked hurriedly as he sat up, wondering if there was enough time for him to get showered, dressed, and maybe get something else to eat before they left. He could use that little bit of extra energy to charge his battery the rest of the way after the uninterrupted sleep, needing all the energy he could get since currently he was kind of like a car trying to run on a battery built for a scooter, which he was burning right now by freaking out.

Feral was still sitting next to him not looking rushed at all, so that was probably a good indicator that he was okay. "I'm assuming I do have time to put pants on, right?" he joked, letting himself relax a little. He'd be really glad when this thing was over and he could just sleep and wake up without having to worry about a damn thing for a while, at least not until he was well enough to go after Lonnie...and until Feral left...

But those were concerns for another time. Right now his only job was to stay focused on getting through the 'run.

"You're good," Teva replied, getting smoothly to her feet, and surreptitiously rubbing her butt. Too long in one position had made delicate parts start to fall asleep. Her ass was all pins and needles. "There's ample time to put on pants. You could even shower, maybe have a little dinner. Your neighbor down the hall, Mrs. Reyes, apparently thinks I'm super charming because she dropped off some food the other day. I mean, it's been in there for awhile, but the leftovers should still be good."

Lifting her arms up, she stretched out and held the position for a moment, easing the kinks out of her spine before bending over and touching the floor. As she straightened up, Feral continued on, "Or there's blueberry waffle. Other than that, there's cheese and bread. I could make grilled cheese sandwiches. You really need to go grocery shopping."

Old, confident, cocky, flirt Ghost would've sat there with a smug grin on his face while he watched Feral's little stretching routine, probably followed with some sort of smartass comment.

The person he was now - better, but still lost, vulnerable, mostly careless, and trying to sort out whether it was right to have feelings for the girl he almost...for Teva - he had to stop thinking of her as the almost victim. She didn't see him as her demon, never really did apparently, so it wasn't fair for him to see her as anything but just her.

The person he was now had gotten fairly used to wearing everything on his sleeves, as the saying went, which meant watching her little stretching routine left him a little slack-jawed and speechless for a second.

"Wow, grilled cheese," he spat out when he could find words. "I haven't had that since...I don't even remember, but that sounds great, so if you want to get on that while I'm in the shower-" No, he was supposed to try being more independent, "-or I can take care of it myself when I get out. Not that I really know _how_to make grilled cheese, but it's just cheese and bread, right? How hard can that be?"

He was making his way backwards to his bedroom as he rambled, knowing he was making a complete idiot of himself. This was all her fault, really. If she had just told him she wasn't interested he could've just shut that part of him down. He was good at shutting down when he wanted to. Problem would've been solved. Or, better, if she had maybe given him something more to work with than "that's nice" - _question mark_ - and then continued to do things like pet him or whatever the hell she was doing with her hand in his hair when he woke up, and stretching like that right in front of him, then maybe he could just feel secure in the fact that she kind of liked him back, and he'd be acting a little more like confident Ghost instead of nervous Brandon...who was fighting very hard not to just close himself into his bedroom. It would look even _more_stupid considering the fact that he was just supposed to be getting a change of clothes and going straight back out to the bathroom.

Quickly gathering what he needed, he took a few breaths to put himself back together and strode casually out of the room. "Maybe I'll just have the leftovers," he shrugged, putting himself in pretend mode and erasing the outward signs of awkwardness he had displayed only moments before. "Not the waffle, though. That's yours, and I promised the diner girl I wouldn't touch those. So, yeah, I'm going to get cleaned up, and hopefully not fall on my ass this time, and when I come out I'll actually have real clothes on. I'm sure you're a little tired of seeing my underwear by now, huh?" Okay, so some of his nerves slipped out again in the form of a little chuckle.

Game over.

He fled into the bathroom and stopped just short of closing the door. He'd need her to be able to hear him in case he really did take another tumble, but he was sure he could handle it this time. He was going to handle shaving, too, because stall tactics seemed to be becoming his best friends lately. That and his stupid rubberband.

* * *

One minute they were fine, the next minute Brandon was all weird again. Teva quirked an eyebrow and watched with patient amusement as he rambled his way into the bathroom. Jeez. Men were weird. Exhibit A. This was exactly why she normally didn't bother with this kind of thing. She was supposed to be concentrating on a 'run, and instead Teva was worried about what she'd done to make him act so strangely. Was the hair thing too much? Was she just supposed to sit there silent and still for six hours? Was she not allowed to act casual anymore?

Why was it that the second things got interesting between two people, they also got really weird? She'd said her piece, tried to be straightforward with him without telling him outright 'I'm trying to get over a recent heartbreak-ish type of thing, and you've obviously got your plate full dealing with stuff right now, so maybe this isn't the best time for me to pull my one and only move on you, that being the direct approach, because neither of us is really in any condition to be having raunchy sex, which is the only place _the direct approach_leads. So, yeah, better to keep things a little cool right?

She figured she could kind of ease into the affectionate touching and stuff, and dip her toe into the 'get to know you' pool. It felt strange to her and unnatural; Feral was impulsive, intense. She normally didn't _do_ 'getting to know you,' particularly not with someone she was romantically inclined toward. Things hadn't changed much since Razor. Teva still wanted to fuck first and ask questions later. It was a defense mechanism, she realized; hooking them with the only thing they seemed to value in her, and _then_gradually easing around to the talking about themselves portion of the menu (though she rarely did that either; Teva was more inclined to let them do the talking...men loved talking about themselves).

But Ghost was still in a fragile state, and truth be told, so was she. Therefore, if Teva wanted to do this right, and not fuck it up irreparably, she needed to get a little crazy, and deviate from her usual patterns of behavior. It was counter-intuitive, so maybe that explained why she was fucking it all up anyway. Maybe no matter what, she was just doomed to fuck her relationships up.

Shaking her head, Feral left the apartment for a second, and walked to the Reyes' down the hall. She knocked lightly, and when an accented voice called, "Si? Who is it?" she answered with a friendly, "Hello, Mrs. Reyes! It's Sarah from down the hall."

The locks slid away and the door opened, a small, older woman of mixed descent staring up at her, smiling. "Hola, Sarah! How are you? It has been some days since I have seen you; you haven't been running in the mornings." Her dark hair, shot through with silver, was pulled back from her face, leaving her sharp cheekbones bare and slightly weathered like the desert rock formations, and her nose was wide and flat. There was a hint of Asian heritage in the shape of her eyes, though they were a pale, watery blue. She wore skirts all the time paired with simple tunics in flowing materials, and smelled of masa constantly.

"I've been really busy," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Brandon's been sick, so I've been playing nurse."

"Ahh," Mrs. Reyes nodded knowingly, a dark glimmer in her eyes as she stated, "Las drogas."

"You know?" Feral raised her eyebrows curiously.

Ghost's neighbor laughed. "I'm old, not stupid. It's too bad, because he is such a kind young man. Always polite. You live long enough though, you can pick out a drogadicto from a distance. There is always a certain air of sorrow and desperation about them."

"So," Mrs. Reyes paused, waving her inside the apartment, and shutting the door, "He is doing better?"

"Yes," Feral agreed, following the older woman to the kitchen, and sliding into a seat, watching as Mrs. Reyes took up grinding down corn again. "Better. Not one hundred percent yet though."

She nodded knowingly. "I will send you home with some food. We had chiles rellenos last night-real chiles; my husband gets them from a friend with a garden-and stew. The stew, you understand, is mostly made from substitutes, but it is good. The right flavors together and you can make anything taste good."

"Like my mother used to say," Teva laughed. Hesitantly, she ran her finger over the counter top. "Actually, I-I was wondering..."

"Spit it out, chica," Mrs. Reyes laughed at her unexpectedly shy moment.

Glancing up, Feral asked quickly, "I was wondering if you have any butter or substitute that I could borrow? I was going to see about making grilled cheese, but Bran's out, and I really don't want to run to the grocers."

With a playfully serious expression, the woman considered her request. "Hm...I will have to think..." She started grinning crookedly. "Of course, this is what neighbors do for each other; at least it was when I was growing up. These days everyone is so scared of the people around them. There is no sense of community." Mrs. Reyes stopped grinding the masa, and started moving around the kitchen. "Things were different where I'm from. We knew our neighbors. I suspect your neighborhood was similar?"

"Ah, yes," Feral agreed hesitantly, and slipped around the counter to continue the grinding process. She felt a little guilty, interrupting such a tedious task as this one for something so trivial. "There was the bad element too, but for the most part we all knew each other and sort of...cared. Poor doesn't necessarily mean criminal."

"No, it does not," Mrs. Reyes hummed, and over her shoulder Teva could hear the rustle of a bag, and other movement. "These people do not see the difference. They see a little old lady living in a less than upstanding area of the city, and they think she is a victim. Every youngster is a ganger, every woman is a whore. We all live in fear. It is ridiculous." A bag was plunked down on the counter next to the station Teva was working at, and Mrs. Reyes began teasingly slapping her arm. "Get out of here, child. This is my work, not yours," she chuckled. "Yours waits for you and has a charming smile."

Teva laughed loudly, and set down the pestle. "Yes, he does," she agreed, stepping away to pick up the bag. "This is..." She eyed the contents, uncharacteristically touched. "Thank you," Teva nodded, biting her lip.

Mrs. Reyes waved a hand carelessly in a 'don't worry about it' gesture. "He helps me bring things up to the apartment, and we talk at the mailbox. He's a good boy. Do not worry about paying me. This is...dhammas." She began leading Teva back to the door.

"Dhammas?" It slipped out before she could stop herself.

With a little grin, Mrs. Reyes explained, "My husband's term. His tradition is based on old southwestern Amerindian beliefs. Dhammas is a concept that...all life is a spiral, an interconnected circle. One thing leads to another that leads to another. Similar to karma. The idea that giving is also receiving, and in receiving you gift is part of that. Vague, I know, but...it is hard for me to explain, even after all these years of marriage." Opening the door, she paused. "But I would like my containers back. Those are expensive."

"Oh yes, of course!" Teva nodded emphatically. "Washed and everything."

The older woman smiled and patted her arm. "Good girl. Hasta luego, Sarah."

"Ah, hasta luego," she repeated, the rolling sound of the Spanish language coming easily to her, though she didn't understand it. The romantic languages all had a similar sound to them. Its cadence was recognizable in her native tongue of Rumanian. Turning, Teva walked back to the apartment, and put the leftovers in the fridge. There was a small stick of margarine on top of the boxes as well.

With a look at the clock, Teva estimated just how long Bran had been in the shower, and when he was going to step out. She took out a pan, and started cooking, feeling way too domestic for comfort, but also somehow relaxed...natural. Her mother used to make them grilled cheese a lot. When there was barely anything else to eat, it was soy-cheese for dinner night. The smells that wafted up were as familiar as Mrs. Reyes' welcoming attitude. She was overwhelmed with a sense of home, and it put a small smile on her face. Teva started humming under her breath, then singing lightly in Rumanian, swishing her hips to an unheard back-beat. It occurred to her for the first time that she was actually going to miss this place when she left, and returned to her quiet, dark apartment where nobody knew who she was, and nobody really cared to either. She sang louder, the sultry purr of her mother tongue drowning out her thoughts.

He shaved in the shower using the little mirror held to the wall by a suction cup, taking off most of the hair but leaving just a little scruff around his chin and over his lip like he liked it. It gave him a little bit more of a rugged, mature look, less like the little boy who had lost his innocence before he had ever even heard of the word, the boy that tended to shine through here and there when he was completely clean-shaven. Taking a little extra time to make sure the bottom of the tub was clean of any loose hairs - girls _hated_ that - he turned off the water and froze as he heard singing coming from what must have been the kitchen if the smells and sounds of food cooking were any indication. Very, _very_carefully, he conquered the whole stepping over the side of the tub thing with minimal difficulty, wrapped the towel around his waist, and slowly cracked open the door. Suddenly afraid that his intrusion would embarrass her and cause her to stop, he moved out of the bathroom just enough so he could watch from a quiet distance, and leaned up against the wall.

Whatever she was singing was beautiful, the strange words rolling off her tongue with the same fluid ease that her body moved along with tune. She seemed happy...and kind of sad at the same time, and for a moment he was nearly overwhelmed with an urge to step up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, maybe brush her neck with a soft kiss and whisper in her ear how _right_she looked just then, like she belonged there, just like that, and he'd chase away the sadness like she had been doing for him.

Shaking his head, he backed away from the thought and slipped into the safety of the bathroom once again. If he walked up behind her in nothing but a towel and grabbed at her, she was likely to elbow him in the ribs hard enough to send him to the floor. That was _if_ she caught herself in time not to just outright break his arm or something. That would pretty much nix the whole kissing thing, and telling a girl she looked _right_ in the kitchen slaving over dinner for her man (and he wasn't even "her man" as far as he could tell) generally didn't give off the right impression. Feral would probably be extra...feral...about it. She wasn't exactly the domestic type. Not that he meant it that way when he was thinking it. He just liked the idea of her being there, looking relaxed and singing and happy/sad in _his_ home, with _him_ being so close by, trusting him not to do things like...grabbing at her while he was mostly naked.

Eventually Teva heard the bathroom door open, and Ghost head back into his bedroom. She stopped singing, flipping the last sandwich onto its other side, and waiting for his reappearance. Abruptly, it occurred to her that maybe she shouldn't have made herself so at home in his apartment. Maybe that would weird him out or send out the wrong signals. Maybe he'd think she was trying to insert herself in his world, carve out a permanent place. Teva wasn't one of those girls that tried to trick a man into loving her. Perhaps she should have just let him eat the leftovers, and occupied herself with another journal.

Sighing, he took his time in getting dressed since he didn't really have much else to do to get ready, preferring to let his hair dry however it landed and not really one for cologne unless he was purposely using it to pick up girls that were prone to liking it. With nothing left to do, he waited until the singing had stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled as he stepped out of the bathroom looking all refreshed and happy and dutifully hungry.

"_That_ smells really good," he complimented as made his way into the kitchen and casually boosted himself up to sit on the edge of the counter, making sure to be out of her way. He leaned forward a little bit so he could catch her eye and gave her a very sincere, "Thank you."

She let their eyes lock for a beat too long, a little smile curving her lips upward. Teva shrugged finally, and broke the stalemate. "You're welcome. It's no big deal though, just cheese on some fried-up bread." She deliberately downplayed the gesture, scooping the last sandwich out of the pan, and sliding it off the spatula onto a plate with two others. "I kind of wish you had some tomato soup stashed around here though. Grilled cheese and tomato soup is, simply put, the best comfort food on the planet." Teva shot him a lopsided smile.

Glancing again at the food, she warned, "One of those is mine, but you can have the other two. I wasn't sure how hungry you'd be." Nibbling on her lip, she asked quickly, "Is there any way I can convince you to drink more cough syrup-flavored beverage?" Reaching inside a drawer, Teva held up one of the little packets. "Mm, say yes to vitamins!" she joked in a sarcastic sing-song.

His face scrunched up in a funny way as he both grimaced and laughed at the same time. "I'm going to say yes, but only because I want whatever I can take that'll help get me through this 'run. After tonight, though, that stuff is never to touch my tongue again." He took a bite of his sandwich and smiled in appreciation as he chewed and swallowed. "You can shove as much of _this_in my face as you want though."

Getting through the first sandwich quickly, he held off on the second one so he'd have something to wash down the electrolyte poison with, and smiled at himself as he realized how backwards that was. Washing down liquid with food. Just another little sign that his world really had gone all topsy-turvy on him.

Feral mixed up two glasses of the drink, one for him and one for her, and sipped at it while she picked up her own sandwich, leaning against the counter near Ghost.

Feeling pretty good, just a tad adventurous, and honestly kind of wanting something to distract her from laughing at his cough-syrup "yuck" face, he decided to take a little risk. "So...the singing...what language was that?"

Chewing carefully, Teva made sure her food was swallowed before she spoke. "It's Rumanian," she replied, her accent obvious as she said the last word, rolling the 'r' and pronouncing the 'u' as a hybrid of English's 'o' and 'u.' "My mother was full-blooded. We learned to speak her native language before we learned English."

Nudging his thigh a little with her hip, Teva teased, "If you drink it faster, the flavor won't sit on your tongue as long." She took a demonstrative gulp, and stuck out her tongue playfully. "It's not _that_ bad." Chuckling, Feral drawled, "You look like a little kid making that face."

"It _is_ that bad," he argued, but took the bigger gulp anyway and nearly choked on it. After getting it down his throat, he shook his head quickly like he was trying to shake the taste out of his mouth and let out a little, "Blegh!" Squinting one eye open at Feral, he grinned around his disgust. "It was worse when I _was_ a kid. Poor Nate would have to practically sit on me to get me to take _any_kind of medication."

His grin fell at the mention of his cousin and the sight of the rubberband around his wrist. "Guess I...mostly grew out of that, huh? He would've been...proud..." Clearing his throat he changed the subject before macabre sarcasm could kick in any further.

"What was your family like?" He flinched as the question came out, remembering what she'd said about her sister going crazy and trying to kill her friends. "Sorry, that's probably none of my business. Nevermind. You don't have to tell me anything."

Turning away from her, he made himself just straight chug down the rest of the drink, doing his best not to make faces in the process, and failing at it miserably. He did it for no other reason than to keep his mouth occupied so nothing else stupid would come pouring out of it, and maybe to amuse her enough to forget about the last question. Making her laugh was a good thing.

Teva snorted wryly as Brandon mentioned his cousin being proud of his ability to take medication now, but refrained from further commentary. She knew he was being sarcastic, and if she said anything at all it was probably just going to hurt his feelings. Instead, she addressed his question between bites.

"My family?" Thoughtful chewing followed that statement. "Well, we lived in a pretty shitty neighborhood in Tampa, just the three of us. My mom... Something happened back home, I think her parents died, and she met these people who said they could get her to the West. Start a new life, blah blah blah. She was really young, fifteen maybe, and paid them a bunch of money, then when she got here... Well, they were traffickers; they told her that she had to work off her debt. I'm sure you can guess how."

Pausing, she ate a few more bites, then continued, "She got pregnant, probably by a client. She never said one way or the other. Somehow she slipped her keepers, and ran off, traveled down the coast until she hit Tampa. Raised us both, and did pretty good at it. You can imagine how difficult it must have been for her. She was an illegal and barely more than a kid herself when we were born. That doesn't leave a lot of options open for ways to earn money, so she went back to the escort business. Over time, as she got more integrated into the community, she found other work doing temp jobs for people in the community who owned businesses, but part-time unstable work like that doesn't earn much, not when you're supporting two kids, so it was more like supplemental income."

"Tam and I knew, of course. It's hard not to know when circumstances sometimes forced her to bring her clients home. I never really minded though. It was just life, you know? Tamsin was a little more sensitive about what people said behind our backs. It was harder on her, especially after she was attacked, I guess." Teva sipped her vitamin drink again. "I don't really know what else to tell you. What do you want to know?"

He glanced over at what he could see of the journals that led up to that last one on the kitchen counter.

Everything. He wanted to know everything.

But she wasn't like him, or like how he was _now_, anyway. His life was very literally an open book to her, all his fears and dreams and emotions displayed for her to dive into as she saw fit in first childlike then working up to neatly transcribed writing. Her own rendition of her life was told in simple facts, a, b, c, with no _feeling_ involved. It was how he _used_to talk about his life when anybody asked, keeping his past short and choppy, and always leaving out what happened with Lonnie. Nobody needed to know that shit. Or at least that's what he thought up until recently when discovering that maybe Nate having been the only person who knew (aside from Lonnie and the case workers, of course) was the very thing that kept him feeling like such an outsider to the rest of the world. Not that he had any intentions of just shouting his drama to whoever wanted to listen, but having at least one other person out there who understood, a person he cared about, it helped ease the burden. A lot.

"Hold that thought," he said, and slipped down off the counter while he shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth. He started to walk away, only to turn around a second later to grab a glass and fill it with normal water so he could rinse the lingering cough syrup taste off his tongue, shrugged at her with a sheepish grin, and left again.

Once back in his bedroom he went into his closet and slid a box off the back corner of the shelf. It wasn't that heavy but he'd nearly dropped it, anyway, another frustrating reminder of his weakened state. Guns would have to be his friends tonight - fast, lethal, light, and something he could work at a distance if he needed to step into the combat scene. Anything more physical than that would only get him killed.

Setting the box on the bed, he opened it and sifted through the little collection of blank journals that was inside - a last gift from Nate ensuring that Brandon would keep up the tradition after he'd died. "Perfect," he whispered as he came across one that met his approval for her. The cover was imprinted with an image that made the cardboard look like real bolted steel, but it was broken apart here and there by mangled tears in the metal like something had ripped its way out of a confining box. Inside those gaps was a painted underlay of soft watercolor, nothing more than intricate little swirls of reds and blues, whites and yellows, pinks and greens, and any other color that paint could create that would invoke feelings of vibrancy, loss, love, happiness, friendship, timidity, pain, hope, _life._ He had always liked that one, but somehow felt like it wasn't right for him to be writing in it. He had already put all his colors out there in the other journals, setting them free from that metal box a long time ago, even if it _was_just for him to see.

Well, him, Nate, and now Feral.

That book being someone's first seemed to fit the situation a little better. She may never even use it, but maybe at least looking at it would remind her of him once she had gone. That was still serving a better purpose than being locked away in a dark corner of his closet.

Fishing out a purple glitter pen from the box, as well (because, what the hell, might as well tease her a little bit and make light of the situation with offerings of girly things to write with, which was the whole reason Nate had tossed the packet of glitter pens in the box to begin with - nice last gift humor, there, brother), he made his way back to the kitchen and casually tossed the book on the counter in front of her, suddenly feeling a lot more secure in the situation. Whether it was because he thought it might make her squirm a little bit, thereby making it less awkward for him, or because he felt like he was passing on the most important tool that had kept him alive and relatively sane-ish through his crappy existence, he didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to do this. For her. Even if it amounted to nothing in the end, it still just felt incredibly right.

"You," he answered her question, holding the glitter pen up in her face. "I want to know _you._ But since you don't strike me as the type to just start gushing your feelings all over the place like some Little Emo Bitch student who we won't name, you can write shit down in there if you want to and maybe somewhere down the line if you feel like sharing, you can. No pressure. I _am_ going to pressure to at least _take_ that book and this pen though, because if you don't accept these _very_ important gifts I am likely to start crying right in front of you, and then I'll be embarrassed, and that will probably be followed up with this wrist-" he held up the one with the rubberband wrapped around it, "-looking like this one." At that, he displayed the one he had successfully damaged last night between the rough snapping and just the rubbing and pinching of his fingers as he had picked the rubber away from his skin over and over again. "Do you...want to do that whole pain, healing thing you mentioned on that? Because it still kind of burns..."

Teva took the book, chuckling at Brandon's antics, and slipped it on the counter. She eyed the purple glitter pen skeptically like she was staring at a rattlesnake about to bite her.

She'd never written anything before. Never wanted to, really. Privacy was hard to come by when she was younger, sharing a room with her sister. A diary would have been nosed through constantly. And after? Well, she had been a little busy kicking ass.

Finally, she quirked a grin at him, and nodded. "I can do the heal-y thing. I'm going to warn you in advance though, it's pretty touchy-feely, and it takes awhile." Chewing up the last of her sandwich and purple drink, Feral pushed herself off the counter, and snagged Ghost's uninjured wrist.

"So you wanna do this on the bed, or the couch, or the floor? It'll be easier on a flat surface though, so maybe I'll just nix the couch right off the bat. So, the bed or the floor, you can choose." Cheerily, she tugged Brandon out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow as she strolled backwards very slowly, their arms linked between them like a leash.

At the words "touchy-feely" and "bed" his humorous confidence ran away like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, especially with the slow way she was pulling him along with that _look_on her face.

The floor, they should do it on the floor. No, no, not _it_, not like that, the healy thing, just an - oh, god, that was a poor choice of words.

But even with the carpet, the floor was hard and uncomfortable and held too many memories of him bleeding all over it that even all the nuyen he'd handed off to the cleaner guys to take care of couldn't completely scrub away. Shit, it hadn't been that long ago that he'd been laying right there behind the couch in a drugged out daze, surrounded by his books, once again contemplating his death. Yeah, the floor was a bad place to be, not very relaxing at all.

Did he want to be relaxed?

Yes, yes, he needed to be relaxed because the 'run was coming up on them soon and being all tense and weird now would only drain energy. But he'd be all tense and weird on the bed too, wouldn't he. There was no question mark at the end of that.

Still, the bed was better. He could be tense and weird but still comfortable in the physical sense, and not thinking about how he'd almost died in that spot or that one over there or puked up a bottle of tequila over there or...

"The bed?" he finally stated...no, asked. There _was_ a question mark on _that_one.

_Dammit, Feral, you've ruined question marks forever._

"The bed," he said more decisively, and allowed her to lead him there if that's where she wanted to be.

She started laughing at the panicked look he wore. "Jeez, Bran, relax. I'm not going to strip your clothes off, not unless you ask me," Feral chuckled and spun around, still dragging him with her back into the bedroom. His panic was understandable given the sensual nature of the task she was about to undertake. And it would be...sensual, that is. It was one thing to do it to Switch, who was as far from being on her sexual radar as a cocker spaniel would be, or Tamsin, whom she clearly only felt platonic feelings toward. It became a whole different beast when it was someone she was attracted to, and she suspected it would be the same for anyone. Touching, even innocent touching between people who were admittedly attracted to one another, took on a different connotation.

Trying for a more impersonal manner, Teva dropped his wrist once they were in the bedroom, and jerked her chin toward the bed. "Lie down on your stomach," she suggested, sliding her hands into her back pockets. "I'll need to straddle your thighs; otherwise it'll be kind of awkward for me. Basically, I'm going to rub your back for a few minutes. You won't really feel much. It's not like a spell. It..." She bit her lip, struggling for a way to phrase it that would be easily understood. "Your body contains a particular substance. The Chinese call it 'chi;' Western medicine knows it as the lymphoid system. It goes everywhere, touches every part of the body. It's a conductor that aides in the body's natural defenses. To me it feels like water systems, rivers, lakes, streams, et cetera. What I do is help speed up the body's natural resistance toward pain and injury. It's more subtle than a healing spell, but it helps. Basically, if your body is made up of these waterways, my hands become the moon, and they coax the tides to the areas they need to go at a quicker rate than normal."

His brain kind of locked down on the whole "not going to strip your clothes off unless you ask me to" comment. Did she really mean that? He wouldn't right now, of course. Conserving energy and all that. But was that a potential invitation for the future?

...This _really_wasn't helping the situation at all. His wrist didn't even burn that badly. No more than in a really bad rug burn kind of mixed with cat scratches sort of way. He could definitely tough through it; he'd only brought it up more out of part curiosity and part just looking for a subject change so she wouldn't linger too long on the journal thing, and it was the first thing that had popped into his head.

Urgh, but it was too late to take it back now. She might get offended or something if he suddenly changed his mind. No, this was fine. They were adults, and she being all metaphorically, scientifically professional about it now. He just had to look at it like getting a massage; and yes, he _had_had massages where the therapist had straddled his legs like she was talking about.

...Sometimes that led to other things...

But not tonight, because he was conserving energy.

"Okay," he said more in a perfunctory, 'I can do this', gearing up sort of way than as an affirmation to what all she had been saying. Without any more stalling, and without looking at her, he crawled onto the bed and got himself into the same comfortable position as he would if he were getting a regular old massage...except maybe his hands were clenching the pillow above his head a little tighter than normal.

Taking her hands back out of her pockets, Feral climbed up after him, then put her knees on either side of his thighs. At first, she sort of hovered there uncertainly, feeling just as awkward as he was. Inwardly, Teva berated herself. This was not a sex thing, it was a healing thing, and she needed to be professional about it.

Leaning up, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His muscles jumped with tension. She squeezed lightly. "Relax," she said soothingly, letting her eyes slip closed. The request was as much for her as it was for him. The tenser she was, the harder it became to find that balance, to slip into this particular skill set. It was so at odds with the rest of her adept training. Yes, it was the oldest skill she knew, but not necessarily the most utilized.

He tried not to tense up when she touched him, really he did, but his body reacted on pure instinct. It wasn't just that it was because this was Feral, the girl that made him stupidly nervous like a teenage boy who was gearing up to ask her out to the prom. It was also because even though he had put himself in similar positions with other girls, it was still second nature for him to want to act defensively in this type of situation - him on his stomach, someone straddling him, the air buzzing with a hint of sexual tension...

He would _not_ ruin this by flashing on Lonnie, not now.

Finally, Teva decided to take a lesson from the time she'd done this to Switch in the bathroom of a cheap motel after he'd gotten the crap kicked out of him, and thrown up everything in his stomach. She began to talk, lightly tracing a path down Ghost's spine as she did so, letting him get used to her touch.

"I learned this from my mother," she told him quietly. "The first adept skill I ever acquired. I used to do this for my sister when she was sick, and sometimes my mama." Her thumbs settled into the small back-dimples just above his waistband for a moment, then her hands swept out and up his back again, resisting the temptation to tug up his shirt and put her palms against his skin. "I've discovered it works on more than just illness though. It's very good for easing the small pains caused by injuries. You don't know this, but before we met, Switch and I got attacked by some guys I'd pissed off on another job," Teva continued speaking, her hands and words forming a sort of rhythm as she sank into the motion, and the inner tides. "He got hit with one of those Fichetti P.I.'s. Anyway, you couldn't tell the day after that it had even happened, could you? Not once I did my thing."

He was glad when she started talking, giving him something to focus on besides the incredibly vulnerable position he had found himself in, and began to relax into her touch. Healing magic in general was something that always made him uncomfortable, no matter how many times he'd needed to utilize it. As it was just a regular necessity in the world of 'running, he'd never dare admit to anyone how it made him feel almost sick inside, the magic coursing through him to heal his wounds reminiscent of the countless times Lonnie had made him whole again only to take it away days later - wash, rinse, repeat. Whatever Teva was doing was different though, not at all giving him that sense that something was invading his system, even if it _was_for good. He couldn't even say that he felt anything unnatural moving through him at all, aware that she was doing something but only feeling his own body reacting to it.

"The bummer is that it only works on other people," she chuckled, and subconsciously relaxed her weight onto the backs of his thighs, too caught up in the process to notice if he was startled by the sudden pressure, or the heat of her skin next to his, separated by their jeans. Okay, so _she_ noticed that, but it was a distant concern.

Her touch was soothing, so much so that between what she was doing, the sound of her voice, and his still weakened state he found himself starting to fade off to sleep again, even when her weight suddenly pinned down his legs. Normally he would've panicked just a little at that despite knowing he was with someone he could trust. Instead, she just made him feel _more_secure, like her being there created a shield of safety against everything wrong with the world.

"You missed your calling," he murmured happily, rambling to try to stay awake, and not really knowing what he was saying. "Kinda feel bad you're wasting this on my wrist...should've hurt myself more so it'd be worth it. No, that didn't come out right...wasting this on someone like me in general...'m sorry..."

"'Someone like you'?" she repeated quietly. "Don't be an ass, Bran. You're a worthwhile person. I'm glad we met." Teva admitted this in a voice clearly laden with warmth, and slid her hands up his arms, pushing his chi all the way down to his fingertips, then sliding back down.

"As for my calling," Feral continued peacefully, "I've always been a little paranoid about trying to find a proper job. I mean, I have a fake SIN, and it's a good one. I got it when I was eight because we couldn't leave the neighborhood without one. But a fake is still a fake, and if I get busted, I'll probably be slapped with a criminal SIN. That's a complication that I really don't need, and..." She paused, tilting her head curiously. "Are you falling asleep on me?"

"No," he breathed out slowly. _Yes, but I'm trying not to, honest!_

"I have a criminal SIN," he kept going, just so she knew he was paying attention even though he was barely holding onto consciousness. "'s not so bad. Just gotta...be more careful."

Yeah, he was definitely going to lose this battle with sleep if this kept up. Was there enough time before the 'run to take another nap? He guessed it didn't really matter - if not, she'd make sure he didn't go under; if so, she'd wake him up in time to leave. His sleepy fate rested entirely in her hands, which was something he had already admitted to her, and he didn't mind that one bit.

The news that Ghost had a criminal SIN kind of surprised her. He seemed too slippery to get busted. Then again, there always was the folly of youth. "Why?" she blurted out unthinkingly. "Wait, sorry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I'm just kind of interested."

Running her hands up his arms again forced her to stretch out over him, so Teva made sure to lower her voice a little more when she asked, "How's your wrist now? Feeling a little better?" After all, she didn't want to be yelling right up by the guy's ears. That wouldn't be cool.

Pulling back, she settled her hands on his shoulder blades, not really pressing, but just letting them lay there.

"Yeah, feels good," he answered softly. He furled his brows as he thought about the prior question, finding it hard to focus.

"Oh, that's right. That was after Nate... Didn't write in my books for a while after that, did I?" He let out a breathy laugh. "I got a little angry that he left me, did a lot of stupid shit."

His voice lowered again as he continued. "Not what I got tagged for, though. That wasn't stupid, just impulsive. Grabbed a guy right on the street and nearly beat him to death. Don't even really remember doing it or how many people it took to pull me off. I just remember...a lady walked past with her kids and his head turned to watch, kinda like when you want to see if the back looks as good as the front?" Another little laugh escaped him. "Don't judge me; I know girls do it, too. Anyway, I was right behind the guy and I saw his eyes. He wasn't looking at the mom. He was eyeing the kids and I just...I don't know, I snapped. To all the witnesses it was just a random attack, could've landed me in jail or the mental ward for a long time, but between my younger age, a good act I put on in court, my history, and the fact that the guy I almost killed already had a record of his own, they let me off easy. Spent a little time in the system, had to go to therapy for a while when I got out - fucking hate therapists - and I'm now forever labeled as being 'dangerously prone to bouts of violence due to possible post traumatic distress. Proceed with caution.'"

Recalling the story brought him out of his drifting state a little more, and he turned his face enough so she could see his smile. "I don't think sitting on me qualifies as 'proceeding with caution.'"

With a little laugh, she swung off, and put her hands in her lap, kneeling almost demurely on the mattress. "I've never been very good at 'proceeding with caution'. Impulsiveness is my M.O. Fortunately, most of the time it works out in my favor. When it doesn't? Well, that's another lesson, I suppose."

Her smile became softer, a little sadder as Feral admitted, "Red says I'm like the personification of Murphy's Law." Chuckling again, she said, "It doesn't help that I kind of play into that expectation. The more uncontrollable people think you are, the less effort they make toward trying to control you, kind of like tattooing 'abandon all hope...' on your forehead. Works for me. I don't take orders well." She winked playfully.

Throwing herself down on the mattress, Teva rolled onto her back, and scooted up until her head hit the pillows. "You know how you were talking about The Look?" It was clear from the way she said it that it was, in her mind, definitely a proper noun. "I totally know what you're talking about, and I don't really blame you for losing your cool the way you did. Growing up where I did, being around my mother's career, you develop an acute sense of what people are thinking when they look at you. When we were older, if my mama brought home clients, we had to stay in our room with the door locked until they left. That was after the jumper incident. Mama was in the bathroom cleaning up, but the client hadn't left yet. Tamsin was hungry, and she went to get something to eat from the kitchen. He came out of our mother's room, and was talking to her. When I figured that she was taking too long, I followed Tamsin's thinking and left our room. He wasn't _doing_anything per se, but..."

She paused, noticing her fingers were twisted anxiously in the fabric over her stomach, body tense while she relived the moment. "But you can tell when a man has that look in his eyes. I stayed with Tamsin for a few minutes while the man asked questions, lots of questions about what we liked to do, where we liked to go, what our hopes and dreams were. That was when mama came out of the bathroom, and she took one look at him and her whole demeanor just..._changed_. My mother was quiet and sweet; her personality was much closer to Tamsin's than to mine. That day...she scared the ever-loving shit out of me. She didn't scream or say much of anything, but I knew rage when I saw it. All she did was put her hands on either side of his face, and make him look at her while she smiled like a shark who tasted blood in the water, and whispered 'You're going to leave here, and you will go to the roof, and stand on the ledge. Looking down on the ground below, you will think about this moment where you coveted my children and feel disgusted with yourself. You will jump to cleanse the gene pool of your sickness'."

Sliding her gaze over to Brandon, she grinned, and there was doubtlessly a hint of the same shark-like quality in it. "And he did. He did just that while my mother made us dinner."

He watched her as she spoke, growing angry _for_ her as she talked about the client in a slightly anxious way, feeling the same sense of satisfaction that she was wearing all over her face when she finished the story.

That same, familiar self-loathing that he'd felt since Horizon also flared up again, knowing he had been giving her that look - Look - and probably bringing up all sorts of memories from her childhood that she didn't want any more than he wanted to remember Lonnie. He turned his face away, knowing there'd be no point in apologizing again. She'd already forgiven him about a thousand times, and would probably resort to beating it into him if he kept it up. It would still take him some time before he could fully forgive himself, though, if he ever really could. That memory would probably _always_ make him feel a little sick to his stomach, which might not be such a bad thing. As long as he felt that way, kept regretting it instead of thinking of it as 'okay', then it was pretty safe to say that he wasn't turning into his uncle at all like he'd originally thought.

Lonnie regretted nothing. He'd made that_ very_clear in the park with his magic and his twisted compliments...

Teva chuckled, low and dark. "Fortunately, he lived on another floor of our building. The authorities saw no reason to conclude it was anything other than a suicide. Adepts who can influence... Well, adept magic rarely leaves a trace. It's too subtle for that." Closing her eyes peacefully, her thoughts drifting for a moment like tiny, one-celled organisms on the surface of the ocean, she finally said, "So I understand The Look, and why it enrages you so much. It's why, regardless of your decision, I will be assisting you when you go after your uncle." Her eyes snapped open, looking at Brandon fiercely. "So you can either include that in your plans, or I can Murphy's Law it up in this bitch."

Brandon's head snapped back around as Feral informed him she was going to help him kill the bastard.

"What?" he asked leaning up on his elbows, afraid that he'd heard her wrong. "You're not leaving after the 'run?"

There was definitely a hopeful quality in his tone, he couldn't help it. He had been gearing up for her to leave, kind of dreading it actually, not really sure if he'd be able to stay on the right path once she abandoned him with his nightmares. No, that wasn't fair to think of it that way, with that kind of negative connotation. It wasn't abandonment. She had her own home with her own life that she'd have to go back to eventually. But still, knowing she was staying a little longer...

It put a smile on his face. "Because I don't even _have_ any plans yet, so if Murphy's Law works better for you, I can run with that."

Teva shot Ghost a half-smile. "I don't really have anything to run back to. It's not like I've got a pet at home, or really, anything. It's pretty much just a place to be between jobs." Tapping her fingers on her stomach, Feral continued, "So yeah, if you want me to stick around awhile longer, that's fine. If not, you just let me know, and I'll go."

She felt terribly fragile as she spoke, like she was exposing too much of herself. A fist had seized her heart, and there was a lump in her chest. Brandon was right; she really didn't want to be alone. This whole situation was becoming increasingly unhealthy for her. Being here was too easy. It was an escape from the life she'd built for herself, the problems that had occurred. Just like she'd run from Tampa after the death of her mother, and made New Orleans into her sanctuary, she was now doing the same thing here.

No, she thought with sudden clarity, this was worse. This was like Razor. After her sister's disappearance she had clung to him, used him as a distraction from her inner turmoil until he had thrown her over. Shit. Dammit. Some things really never changed.

"If you still want me here, we'll make a plan once you're feeling one hundred percent." Abruptly, she rolled off the bed, and began heading for the door. "I have some things to take care of before the 'run. Weapons to check and clean, that sort of thing. You should nap again." Teva pulled the door shut behind her, but left a small sliver of space open in case of an emergency.

She headed for the kitchen, and lit a cigarette, smoking out of the window as had become her habit. Sliding a hand through her hair, Teva was wracked with doubt and uncertainty. She wondered if this thing, this mutual attraction, was now more appealing to her somehow because of the tumult in her life. It certainly made for a good distraction.

Maybe she was just a distraction for him too.

Maybe they were clinging to each other like two people drowning in the ocean, trying to stay afloat, but in the end only one of them would survive, pulling the other under. Or maybe they'd both freeze to death in the icy waters.

"Keep it cool," she whispered to herself, and moved away from the window, heading toward the couch to begin the soothing task of stripping down her weapons and cleaning them, making sure everything was ready for the job tonight.

* * *

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Seven

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: It's time for some action! Woo!

Again, time for me to harass you about The Beta Branch. Writer? Beta? Both? Great! Come check out TBB: a revolutionary beta experience. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

_Now what'd I do? _he thought at her sudden need to be away from him. He pulled the pillow over his head and let out a frustrated groan. What was he supposed to do now? Try to nap like she said and wake up from a nightmare? Follow her out to front room like a begging puppy when she clearly wanted some alone time? Or he could find something else to keep him occupied.

Rolling out of bed he went back to his closet and slid away the hidden panel down near the floor on the right inner wall. His own guns had been tucked away for longer than they should've been, not having been touched since Horizon with the exception of _that_one, the one he had tried and failed to kill Lonnie with before. It had been Nate's gun...

Leaving that where it was, he pulled out a couple others to be cleaned. It was almost strange holding them again after going so long without caring whether or not he had anything to protect himself with. The only reason he even carried the knife around was in case some other demon had needed killing. Or to damage himself with when the mood struck.

Gathering what he needed, he scooted back across the floor until he was leaning against the bed and began the process of taking care of his weapons. He'd probably gotten enough sleep for the day, anyway.

It hadn't taken him long to get his two guns in working condition, his hands doing the work of years of habit while his mind wandered. He dozed off where he was on the floor, his head falling down to his chest with one of the guns on his lap.

Around an hour later, Feral slipped over to Ghost's bedroom door, and knocked on the jamb. She hadn't heard peep out of him in that whole time.

Once again, the knock on the door startled him out of another dream, and his first instinct was to point the gun at the intruder, at Lonnie. He dropped it back down immediately as the door cracked open, realizing where he was and that it'd be Feral coming in.

_Jesus, I could've killed her,_he thought, wondering how well he was covering it up or if it was written all over his face.

After finishing with her weapons, she'd changed into soft, dark clothes that covered as much skin as possible. The pants moved with her, clinging to every curve, and ended with a pair of dark running shoes that moved soundlessly, so flexible was their tread. The shirt was armored, and high on her neck. Over that, she'd put on a blue jacket to cover her weapons, and a black knit cap, the brim tipped slightly to one side. The gloves in her pocket completed the picture: Feral could have been any midnight runner.

Poking her head through the door, she nodded. "Let's go. I'm ready to take some assholes out. Just so we're clear though, I'm going to _try_ not to kill these morons. I have one pistol loaded with tranquilizers. The other contains live ammunition. Unless somebody gives me a reason to kill them, I'm using non-lethal tactics."

"Right, tranqs, that's probably...probably a good idea," he agreed hurriedly as he pushed himself up off the floor and made his way back to the closet to trade one of his live round clips for a non-lethal. His hands were a little shaky again as he reached into the weapon cubby, not from lack of drugs, but at the thought of what he'd almost done. He'd have to remember in the future to make sure he wasn't near any sort of weapon while he slept; it was too dangerous.

Clearing his throat, he stood back up and hoped he looked a little less frazzled. "Let's do this," he stated, and gave her a ready nod.

Her eyebrows had gone up at his appearance, the look on his face as she first came in, but she didn't push it. Nightmares, probably. "Great," Feral agreed, and they left the apartment.

A block or two away, Ghost jacked a car, which was super convenient (she was considering asking him to show her how to do that), and they drove to a location a few blocks from where he was supposed to meet Skeeter's team. Right before Teva opened the door to dump herself out on the corner, she impulsively covered Ghost's hand on the gear shift. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out, the words in her head getting stuck somewhere before they reached her vocal chords. _Thank you; I'm sorry; be safe; I like you too._Finally, she darted in close, and laid a chaste kiss on Brandon's lips. "For good luck," she grinned, and jumped out of the car before he could say anything else.

She started jogging at a quick, easy pace, dodging off the main street to approach the temple from the back where it would be easiest to swing up over the outer wall. The light exercise got her blood pumping, and her mood went back up as her mind cleared itself of all her worries, all her insecurities. Here she knew what she was doing. Feral was in control now. The world narrowed down to the plan, to obstacles and assurances. Everything would be fine.

As she ran, Feral tugged her gloves on, the back wall within sight. A jump got her hands on the perimeter wall, and she pushed up, keeping her body as low as possible as she rotated her body and slid down the other side. Her weight made the rock underfoot skitter a little. Teva held her breath, waiting to see if anyone had noticed. The lights remained dim, the courtyard emptied. She crept behind the garden shed near the entry point, and waited. The trap was set. Now they just needed a mouse to spring it.

* * *

It was when Ghost was in the process of hotwiring the car that he realized he was kind of starting to enjoy himself. Going on a 'run, jacking cars, about to go put some fuckers in their places, stealing shit, doing it all with the girl he liked - it felt like a whole Bonnie and Clyde sort of thing, and that fun concept was chasing away his edginess. He was going to make mention of that when he pulled over to let her out, but then her hand was on his and she looked like she was going to say something, so he held his tongue and waited. He most definitely wasn't expecting the kiss, and she was out the door and gone before the shock of it had even begun to fade away.

"Just for luck," he reminded himself as he got the car going again, trying not to read too much into it, but the boyish grin that was creeping across his face was a sign that he believed it was a little more than that. Leave it to Feral to knock his brain out of focus right when he needed to focus the most. Ghost was a natural at his job, though, and by the time he stepped out of the car to greet Trick and his men he was fully in character. Not that "in character" was too far outside his normal personality, just a little rougher around the edges and less patient.

"Let's go," he simply said as he approached and breezed right on past the team, heading for the door of the temple where Skeeter was due to let them in. He needed to get this done and over with before he got too tired to be of any use.

"'Ey, Ghost, ya _were_told if the slitch doesn't show up tonight, you'd be regrettin' it, right?" Trick mentioned as he came up to pace him.

Brandon kept his eyes forward. "How long have you lived here? No one says 'slitch' anymore. Get the slang right or go back to fucking Ireland where you don't stick out like a sore thumb. Shit, I don't know how you lived this fucking long without learning how to blend in a little. Breeding up 'runners in fucking retard schools nowadays, I swear to fucking Christ."

Guns cocked or charged behind him - _interesting array of weapons_ - but he didn't even slow down his step. "You kill me, she'll be in and out right under your noses and you can say goodbye to your cut of the pay." He paused, and turned around to face them with a sly smile. "Oh, wait, you guys are Irish. You don't say goodbye, do you? Just slip on out the back door in the middle of a bar fight to drive your drunk, useless _arses_home without telling anyway, like bugs scurrying away from the first sign of danger."

One of the others, a half-brother or something of Trick's, shoved a gun right in Ghost's face. "Are ya sayin' we're cowards, then?"

Ghost didn't so much as flinch. "No. Cowardice requires weighing options and _choosing_to be a sissy bitch. I compared you to bugs, which don't have the brain capacity to make those kinds of tough choices."

A door opened a few feet behind them and Skeeter's voice hissed out, "Fuck, Ghost, I know you don't like them, but really? You can't get along with the guys for two fucking seconds? Get in here and quit fucking around. We've got shit to do."

"Sorry," Ghost said with an insincere shrug, winking at Trick's team before simply turning his back on them and following Skeeter into the temple. He kept his cool until they were all inside, then he abruptly grabbed Skeeter's robes and shoved him back against the wall, pinning him in place with an arm against his throat while he punched him hard in the stomach. "That was for the other day, fucking dick. You ever hit me again, I'll pick up where the girl left off, only I'll take your whole goddamn ear. You hear me?"

Skeeter straightened himself up, catching his breath and raising a hand to signal the others to put away the weapons that they had once again trained on Ghost. "It's good, we're good. Just working out some personal shit, a misunderstanding," he assured the others, then turned his attention back to Brandon. "If you're done getting even, can we get going on this thing? We don't have all night."

Ghost held him for another few seconds before he felt like his point had been thoroughly made. The initial act was already taking a lot out of him, but he had to show them he was as strong as ever. Skeeter _had_to buy into the idea that the whole being sick and weak routine was just that - another of Ghost's clever ruses to fool a mark. His point made, he could now move on to the easy stuff, the part of the plan where he split the group up and let Feral do her thing.

"Alright," he started, backing away from his captive. "I told you on the phone she got a little sketchy with the plan, probably a little paranoid after you went and fucked everything up." His glare was directed at Skeeter for a lingering second before he addressed the crew. "I know what her possible routes are, so we've gotta split up, make sure she doesn't slip through any cracks. You guys think you can handle that? If you can't, then, well, I hope she kills you because you'd fucking deserve it - she's packing light."

After some more death glares followed by a reluctant agreement from Trick to keep his men in line Ghost quickly rambled out the locations of where they'd need to be stationed, making a big show of being pissed that they hadn't studied the layout of the temple very thoroughly and therefore would have to be taken to their stations individually. That was good. He had been counting on their dumb brute tactics to allow him to do exactly that. Once the plan was hashed out he told the others to wait, and chose to take the half-brother who had stuck the gun in his face out to the shed area first. Being the first one to be taken down was always the most embarrassing. Karma was a bitch.

"Why don't _I _show them around?" Skeeter asked. "I'm the one that lived here for fucking weeks."

Ghost smiled and did a spot-on impersonation of Trick's accent. "Are ya daft? Leave me with the clan o' crazies? They're liable to cut me up and make haggis out 'o me insides!" Shaking his head, he continued in his normal voice. "Fuck that. One on one I can handle if I have to. If you want to speed this up you can take Trick and...what's-his-face out to their posts since they're near each other. I'll station the other two. Come on, Pat or Seamus or Angus, whatever the fuck your name is, you're with me first; and if you point that gun at me one more time your brother-cousins are going home a little richer. In case that went over your head, that means you won't be around to get your cut."

The guy sneered at him but went willingly enough with Ghost, who this time was directing from behind. He'd have to inform Feral that two of the guys would already be in position before she got there - he'd hoped Skeeter would just hang around and wait with the group while Ghost escorted them one at a time to the cat, but it wasn't a high hope. That was too dependent on the guy being a complete idiot, which he only was part of the time. Regardless, it didn't deviate too much from their original plans so it shouldn't really be posing an issue for Feral. It just meant he would have to occupy Skeeter a little longer while she went after Trick and the other guy on her own. He could handle that.

"Almost there," he whispered to the first victim as they approached the shed.

* * *

The whole cat-and-mouse thing wasn't really Feral's style. To be frank, she preferred an honest, open fight to this kind of cloak and dagger nonsense. However, she also preferred living. Five to one weren't good odds in any situation. In the interest of survival, she'd gone along with Ghost's plan.

There was just something dishonorable about lying in wait, Feral thought as she screwed a custom silencer onto her pistol, and waiting to shoot someone.

Her inner survivor piped up and stated, 'Fuck honor.'

She had a point. It was better to live to fight another day than to die at the hands of such fools. Besides, it wasn't like she was killing them from the shadows like some kind of coward. They were just going to take naps. Long naps.

Skeeter wouldn't have been so merciful.

That was the thing about 'running. So many others were tried and true killers. They thought nothing of the value of human life, and felt even less weight on their souls than that of a feather when they killed. She wasn't like that. Most people tended to forget that Teva hadn't started killing until a few years after she started 'running, and she'd only done it when there wasn't any other option, when it came down to her or them. Time had made her a little less scrupulous. She took hits now, paid contracts to eliminate another person's existence, but they were for bad people, or people she considered bad. Feral still didn't kill unless she felt it was necessary and well-deserved. It was too easy to kill, she thought. She'd seen people who got so used to it that they stopped feeling bad about it. From there it was a slippery slope to ceasing to care about metahuman lives in general. Better to try and maintain her humanity for as long as possible, so she always tried non-lethal tactics first.

Sometimes, particularly with her penchant toward pissing people off, that left her with a lot of enemies. Guys like Skeeter, who felt they deserved more than they got, that somehow this little bitch had fucked him over. Enemies were a bad thing to have at one's back, but... Inwardly, she shrugged. Feral took steps to account for that by working far from home. The likelihood that they'd be able to trace her in New Orleans was slim. These men were local guns.

She checked the time absently. Where the fuck were they?

Then she heard shoes on the ground, and pressed herself deeper against the shed, waiting until they came in sight. Was it weird that she knew instinctively which one was Ghost? Something in his build, and the way he moved was familiar to her. Maybe she'd been paying more attention that she ought to have been in the past few days.

Feral aimed at a point just in front of a small tree, and let the target walk into her sight before pulling the trigger twice in quick succession. _Pew, pew!_The sound was barely audible thanks to the suppressor. Only a trained ear very close by would recognize it for what it was.

The man had just enough time to reach up toward the little dart embedded in his chest, and then he collapsed on the ground.

With a soundless snicker, Feral stepped out from behind the garden shed, and _almost_skipped up to her felled opponent. There was a definite bounce in her step, but it hadn't quite progressed into the realm of outright skipping yet. Hands under his dead weight, Feral heaved the limp burden over her shoulder in a fireman's carry. Getting up was easy. Trying not to be overbalanced was a little harder. Tiny girl carrying a larger man; no matter the enhancements, the sheer size difference was bound to make it awkward.

She supposed she could have dragged him, but that would make noise, and they didn't want to make noise, not if they could avoid it.

Ghost leaned back against the tree to play lookout while she did all the heavy lifting. He felt really guilty about that, should've been him, but as it stood he was already struggling with not bending down to rest his hands on his knees like a runner who'd just finished some crazy marathon. Manhandling Skeeter had taken more out of him than he thought it would, but as much as he wanted to take a long timeout it was still too early in the game to let himself be this tired, and he definitely didn't want Feral to _see_ how quickly he was already wearing down. He'd told her he could handle it, and he intended on sticking to his word.

Feral set her burden down behind the shed, then waved Ghost over so she could get an update, and still be in the relative safety of some cover. "What's the score?" Feral whispered as quietly as she could.

He knelt down beside Guinness and dug in his pockets for his comm while he spoke. "One down, four to go. I'm bringing the guy over to that picture window next. Had to send the other two with Skeeter, he was getting antsy. I'll keep him busy when you go after them. Watch out for Trick, he's usually got one or two up his sleeves." Finding the comm and pulling off the downed man's mic, he closed his eyes to remember the inflections and word choices Guinness tended to speak with, focusing on the threatening question the man had just made earlier to help get the right tone down. It wasn't all that different from Trick's speech pattern, and doing it at a whisper was always so much easier. "I'm in position, then. That li'l son of cunt is on 'is way back now."

He was met with Trick's response. "Right, and don't ya worry none, Doyle, he shan't be gettin' away with speakin' to us like that. Some other time, though, yeah? Tonight we've got a job to do."

"Right," Ghost whispered back, then made a little 'oops' face at Feral as he cut off the comm. "Might've improv'd a little too well. They're already plotting revenge and they don't even know I'm two-timing them yet. We have a little bit of a history." Smiling at her, he shrugged and turned to leave. "Anyway, I'm expected back in a minute so I gotta run. See you at the window."

The picture window was a great place for a little high road action. Most people tended to forget to look up, and Feral had excellent balance. Besides, she kind of liked the look on their faces when she popped up seemingly out of nowhere. With a lazy, two-fingered salute at Ghost, she disappeared back behind the shed, and crept around the corner, looking carefully both ways before she tip-toed across the scant area of open ground to the house.

She heaved herself up onto the first story roof with ease, and stayed low on the shingled roof as she slithered around to the front, to the large overhang above the picture window. If she stayed on the left side of the narrowly angled roof, anyone approaching from the east wouldn't be able to see her even if they looked up. Feral made herself as small as possible, and waited, fingering the trigger to her weapon.

In the distance she could make out the shape of someone moving into the communal garden area, eyes on a spot on the perimeter wall. One of the other targets. Stupid. As though she would come in from the main road. There were streetlights and passersby. Someone was bound to spot a girl hopping over a wall from there. If it weren't for that though, it would be a plausible entry point. The ground outside the wall sloped up a little, making the clearance a little lower than the rest of the compound. It was an easy entrance, an obvious one, which was why she and Ghost had marked it, banking on the team's own dimwittedness that they would assume it was a logical entry point. If he turned and looked up through the cherry trees, he'd see her. Feral held her breath and hoped he'd keep his eyes on the wall, and his back to her position.

She'd have to take him out next, and quickly. It would involve crossing the no-man's-land of the public courtyard, unless she looped around back by the garden shed, and took the long way through the foliage.

Foliage made noise though. Bushes rustled, twigs crunched.

Glancing around, she didn't see anyone stationed by the courtyard. Feral decided to risk it, just as soon as she shot this other fucker down.

* * *

He had to move fast to get back to the last guy in a reasonable time, draining yet more energy that he didn't really have to spare. For a moment he considered just capping the guy himself right there in the entrance, but then he'd have to move the man to a more discreet area by himself (something he didn't think he could manage at this point), plus it would look pretty fucking suspicious if the others pinged his comm and he wasn't where he was supposed to be. As dense as Trick's team was, Ghost had to admit that they worked together better than a lot of other crews, kept tabs on each other and knew exactly when to act or when to hold back as a unit, even when they were apart. That was the perk to working within a family dynamic, which was kind of a rare commodity in the 'runner world.

"Shire, you're up," he hissed before he got all the back to the starting location. A few less steps he could save now would be a few more he could take later.

"Ah, so you'd be rememberin' my name now?" That's right. Shire was the soft-spoken one, his lilt a little more subtle.

"That's because when I look at you about a million Tolkien insults automatically pop up in my head, but I figured you haven't heard of him so calling you Dildo Faggins would be lost on you."

"You'd best be mindin' that tongue 'o yours," Shire warned, but his tone was casual as he came up beside Ghost. "The boys 'r liable to cut it out."

Ghost simply shrugged and shushed the man as they made their way out to the next hit location, not really wanting to play the whole banter game anymore. He needed to save his wit for Skeeter, anyway. The guy was prone to unpredictable nature sometimes, and Ghost wouldn't put it past him to try to alter the plan at the last minute. Keeping the guy on track would require more of his focus than playing 'let's insult the idiots.'

"There's the window," he whispered, and gave Shire a little pat on the shoulder to coax him to move ahead into position. "I gotta double back and meet up with Skeeter."

He turned like he was about to head away, but paused to listen for Shire's footsteps walking in the right direction and for the telltale sound of a body hitting the ground.

Feral dropped the last guy, and somersaulted off the roof, clinging to the edge of the house to keep herself from swinging too far. She landed in a crouch, and dragged the body behind the row of hedges, laying him down for a nice nap in the dirt. Insert joke here. _Ba-dum, chh!_

Ghost heard Feral drop the guy and turned his head just enough to see her begin to drag him away before he took off.

Running across the courtyard to the pillared shrine where Kali would have rested in the daytime, she pressed her back up against one of the posts, sliding around while she took a nice, long look around for any witnesses. _Clear_. She darted diagonally toward the garden, and rolled behind a bush just in time. Feral hugged the ground as the guard's head turned just enough that he would have seen her. She regulated her breathing, slow and steady, her nostrils filled with the smell of dirt and growing plants.

Eyeing him from underneath the leaves, Feral waited until he looked away, then shot him twice in the chest like the others. Yeah, she was double-dosing tonight, because she for sure did not want these guys waking up for a long time. Also, if she could get them busted by the monks in the morning? Even more hilarious. Along that line of thinking, she was totally going to plant some stuff on Skeeter before she left. That asshole was going down for attempted robbery at the very least...which was a part of the plan Feral hadn't revealed to Ghost. It was personal, and really only an if-I-have-the-time sort of thing.

Glancing around, she looked for some place to hide the body. The problem with a garden was that there really wasn't anywhere good to stash him, except... Ah-ha!

Feral hefted him up, and took him to the compost heap, burying him under a small layer of _stuff_, and wiping her gloved hands off on the grass afterward.

Two to go. She hoped Ghost was holding up okay.

* * *

Skeeter had been adamant that the two of them stay close to the statue in case she got that far, then force her to steal it for them as per the plan. If she'd managed to slip in before they got there they could still stop her on the way out, and two against one were better odds.

Of course, the statue was in the heart of the temple, which was a good distance away from the picture window as far as Ghost's current judgment of distance went - he was tiring fast. He'd gotten a third of the way there before he realized he hadn't had "Shire" check in, a careless mistake he wouldn't have made if he were in full functioning capacity.

"Shit!" he hissed, and turned around. He'd have to run. Running was bad. It didn't take long to get back to the picture window, but he already felt like his head was in a fog, and it took an extra few frustrating minutes to locate the sleeping man and make a very quick sign-in. Then he had to run all the way to where he was meeting up with Skeeter.

Stopping in the hallway adjoining the one where the jerk was waiting for him, Ghost moved to lean against the wall to catch his breath and found himself on the floor a second later. This wasn't good. "Come on, come on, come on," he willed himself in a hushed tone, his thoughts trailing to the drugs he'd had Feral flush for him. He shouldn't have handed them over. Clearly he could've used them right now.

He closed his eyes for a second and snapped his rubberband a few times, calming his breathing and focusing on slowing down his heart rate. Skeeter would be getting anxious by now, so once he felt like he could step out of hiding without looking like he was about to keel over, he took a deep breath and got up to approach the other man.

"Fuck, thought you got lost or something," Skeeter grumbled.

Ghost shook his head. "Had to lay out some of the rules again with Shire. Shit, Skeeter, I know you were trying to avoid me, but why these guys? They're fucking morons."

"Yeah, well, they get the job done, and I thought you wouldn't stoop so low to track me down with them. Doesn't really matter now though, does it? Now come on, let's go get that statue."

Ghost froze and stared at the man. "What?"

Skeeter moved towards one of the doors to the center room where the artifact was hidden. "We don't need to wait for the bitch. I told the guys to just kill her if they saw her. After all, with you here we don't need her, right? You do this kind of shit all the time."

_Goddamn it, Skeeter! I fucking knew it!_

Stall, he needed to stall. He'd gotten pretty good at that at home, so he should be a fucking expert by now. Crossing his arms over his chest and doing his best to look thoroughly annoyed, he looked at Skeeter like the man had just said the most idiotic thing in the world...which he kind of had. "I don't know the security systems, Skeeter. I didn't run the research on this shit because the _plan_ was to let _her_do the stealing part. If you wanted me to do this you should've fucking told me earlier. I could've studied up on this shit."

"What, Ghost, you saying you're losing your touch? You can't do it?"

Ghost threw his hands up in the air. "No, I can't fucking do it! You really think I'm gonna fall for that grade school, peer pressure, save my pride bullshit?" He caught the very serious look in Skeeter's eyes, and sighed. "You know what? You _do _belong with those dumb shits, practically from the same fucking gene pool. You stay here and stick to the plan; I'm going to go tell those apes not to kill our thief. She dies, _nobody_gets that fucking statue."

He turned to walk away only to hear the cocking of a gun behind him.

_Of course,_he thought, closing his eyes. He was stuck.

Skeeter moved closer and shoved the gun into his side. "Get in there and get my statue, or I shoot you right now. Make your choice."

"Guess I'm stealing a statue," he said lightly, and turned back around slowly to face Skeeter with a smile. "Please tell me you have the security schematics in your comm though. If I trip anything in there, everyone goes to jail empty-handed.

Skeeter seemed to think it over for a second before relenting. "You've got five minutes to look them over. After that, you're going in whether you're ready or not."

With a nod, Ghost waited for the info to be transferred to his unit. Five minutes. That should be plenty of time for Feral to get there...he hoped. Otherwise he was going to have to try to get in through whatever traps the monks had laid to keep their precious goddess safe, and he was going to have to do it dead tired with his thought process running on dangerously low. Biting his lip slightly, he opened up the schematics and prayed to that very goddess that whatever was protecting her didn't consist of lethal means. If so, he was pretty certain he was fucked.

* * *

The fourth location was on the opposite side of the courtyard outside the temple. There was a spot outside of the building where the siding jutted out awkwardly, like the room was too big for the foundation. Right there was a window to the library, and one of the monks had a habit of falling asleep in there with his fingers in the ink pot as he worked to transcribe a particular piece of text into English. He preferred to work with the windows open since the ink could get a little smelly. It was a great entry point, and as soon as Trick was out of the way, she was using it.

Feral took the roof again, thinking she'd get the drop on Trick, and was about to lower herself onto her stomach, so she could peek over the edge and shoot him, when the sensation of bug legs trembled down her spine. She got her gun up just in time to prevent the garrote from slicing her neck open.

"Looks like we had the same idea, din't we, _gel_?" A thickly accented voice hissed in her ear.

She pushed harder against the wire, focusing her every muscle on moving that weapon away from her. Feral just needed an extra inch or two; she felt confident she could wiggle out of there.

A vicious kick to the middle of her back made her lose her breath, and arch out, her neck tipping back, the wire closing in a little more as she lost her focus momentarily. With both hands on the grip of the pistol, Feral had no way to fight back. Trick was higher up than her, and had the advantage of leverage. If she tried to slide down, Teva would end up cutting her own neck.

It was his strength against hers, and shit, she was losing.

She had one possible escape from this. The long stalemate gave way as Feral deliberately gave him another inch, judging from the pull just where he had to be located. _If he was of average height, his torso should be just there, and the arm would be approximately there, she could..._The decision was quick, no second guesses, she either won or she was dead. Feral shifted her grip, one hand flying off the gun, and striking backwards blindly, utilizing the same trick she'd pulled on Skeeter to make his arm go numb.

She gagged as the wire tightened, biting into the sides of her neck. All that saved her was the muzzle of the pistol pressed cold and hard up against her larynx.

Trick cried out in pain as her fingers found his nerves and pressed hard, dug into the meat of him with precision. The garrote slackened momentarily.

Feral took advantage, and pushed forward with the gun, ducking out of its deadly grip while turning simultaneously. She felt gravity pulling her backwards, and clamped her hand on Trick's wrist, tugging him along with her, adding a little extra torque to her arm so his body would skip over hers in the air. She broke her fall with his body, and grunted in pain as something sharp pushed through her skin and ground against her ribs.

She lifted herself high enough to see the glitter of metal sticking out from Trick's sleeve, and the darkness of her blood in the nighttime sliding down the blade.

His smile was unholy and vengeful.

Feral weighed the validity of going for the gun with the live rounds. That was vengeance though, irritation at having been injured. Neutrally, she hissed, "You're lucky I'm feeling forgiving tonight." Aiming the pistol in her hand with the tranq rounds at his chest, she shot him twice just like the others, and heard him growl over the hushed sound of the suppressor, "Your mistake."

Yeah, it probably was.

* * *

Lasers. There _had_ to be fucking lasers involved. What happened to monks being all spiritually one with the world and nature and everything that _didn't_involve lasers? And they weren't just being used as the proverbial trip wires, either. They were the means of taking the intended thief down, brutally. Fucking monks.

He'd gained a rather healthy respect for laser bullets after Switch's little toy had shot him back in Horizon - that shit fucking _hurt,_and probably could've been lethal if it'd hit him in the right spot - but these weren't little toy droids he would be dealing with. If they were set on "kill" power instead of "stun/burn" power, he'd be dead before his Wagon alert could even be triggered. Even he was fully healthy he might have a little bit of difficulty navigating the security system so as to avoid such a fate. Feral was smaller, faster, more agile and athletic. She'd have no problem getting through the trips...if she could actually get here on time. He was running out of it.

"Did you even look at this system?" Ghost asked, hoping to stall a little longer. "I might not even be able to _fit_through some of these gaps. And how the hell am I supposed to get the statue back through them?"

Skeeter shrugged. "Isn't that your job? To figure this shit out?"

"When I have fucking time, yeah," Ghost spat out in a snappy tone. Feral must've had some sort of plan for this already, but he couldn't think. He was having a hard time just staying on his feet without swaying, and Skeeter jabbing him in the side with his gun wasn't helping matters. Oh, the asshole was prodding him along towards the door.

"Time's up," Skeeter informed him. "Get in that door, do your thing through the lasers, and get me my fucking statue." He keyed in his door lock access and shoved Brandon through, almost pushing him straight into the line of laser lights.

"Don't you have a keycode to turn this off?" Ghost asked once he got himself steady, which took way more effort than Skeeter would ever know. The fuckface had nearly triggered the alarms before they even got started.

"If I did, don't you think I would've stolen the thing myself by now? Just go get it!" With that he slid the door shut behind them, locking them both into the room with no other way out. That couldn't have been _exactly_right though, because Feral didn't have a code to the door, did she? She would've had to have planned for another way into the room, most likely the same route she was going to use to get out, and since this room had no windows...

"The vents," he finally figured out, inwardly smacking himself on the head for how simple that should've been. "She'd come through the vents. We need to go back out and around, so I can come in through the top. I don't have to mess with the lasers at all."

"We're already here. Fuck, Ghost, just go through the fucking lasers, and you can use the vent on the way out. We don't have time for this shit!"

Skeeter moved the gun up to press against Brandon's head, pushing it hard enough against the skin that it'd probably bruise later. "Okay, okay," Ghost relented, raising his hands slowly in a placating manner, only it wasn't actually placating. He wouldn't make it through the lasers, not with his strength fading so fast that he couldn't stand straight, and quite clearly couldn't even _think_straight. His limit had been reached after his sprint through the temple, so it was either try to take a stand now and possibly get the upper hand through the element of surprise, or let himself get gunned down by lasers that may or may not be lethal.

He shoved his hands up underneath Skeeter's wrists, knocking the gun's aim towards the ceiling long enough that he could make a reach for his own. He didn't even know at that point which one had the tranq rounds and which carried the actual bullets, but at that point it didn't matter. Skeeter's hands came back down as Ghost's came up, and both guns fired almost simultaneously, the sounds echoing around the locked room but not carrying out past the thick, secure walls unless someone were listening close to the nearest vent.

Ghost was barely aware of hitting the ground, his vision fading fast, everything so numb that he wasn't sure if he'd been hit. He didn't know if he'd hit Skeeter either. The only thing he was physically aware of in his last seconds of consciousness was that he was so, _so_ tired, and his last thoughts were of concern for Teva.

* * *

Lying on her back looking up at the stars, Teva ripped a glove off with her teeth, and patted her stomach to try and determine just where and how badly she was wounded. Shit, he'd been aiming for the heart. Fortunately, her fall had made her slam on top of Trick at an angle, narrowly missing the mark. Hurriedly, she fished a trauma patch out of the inner pocket of her jogging jacket, and yanked up the armored shirt so that she could smooth it over the wound.

By feel, she also identified a stim patch, and slapped one of those on too. Just a little bump to see her through the 'run, to keep her body ignoring its pains long enough to get them out of there. Panting, Feral waited for the familiar rush. Her heart sped up, a tingling seemed to slide through her blood stream and fade into a faint inner glow. She sprang up and picked her pistol up off the ground, putting it away before stuffing her fingers back into her glove, and pulling out a knife to pry off the window screen.

Teva set it down up against the house, and pulled herself inside as quietly as she could. The monk was there asleep at the desk. With silent footsteps, she found herself by his side, and peeled open a tranq patch, placing it gently on the back of his neck. His head lolled underneath her touch, subconsciously disturbed by the contact. Work fast, she prayed. A few tense seconds passed where she held her breath and waited. When he didn't stir, she hopped up on the richly patterned settee, and started unscrewing the vent cover. It was just large enough for her to fit.

Shoving her hat in the back of her pants, she lifted herself up using one of the ceiling support beams, facing away from the wall, and lifted her legs, curving them backwards until her toes caught the edge of the opening. It was an odd way to go, and if it hadn't been for the stab wound, Feral would have done it differently. However, she didn't fancy dropping out of a vent ten feet off the ground head first, and trying to catch herself in a hand-stand before she cracked her head open. No matter how good her pain resistance was, that would hurt. Hell, stretching her torso this much as a slow kind of burn, like someone was rotating a thin, hot poker, trying to spear her through her chest.

She heaved and pushed, and felt her arms tremble with exertion, body bent nearly to its limits before Teva was able to get her legs in. Using the beam for leverage, Feral shoved the rest of herself into the vent, adjusted her mental map of the building schematics to account for the change in perception, and started making her way backwards through the claustrophobic confines of the ductwork, thankful that L.A. was in that weird, in-between state between hot and cool, and that the system wasn't actually on at the time.

One intersection, avoid the downward gap, turn right at the next intersection, then left, avoid the downward gap again, and then kick the fucking vent cover clear off. It took more effort than Feral would admit to pop the cover, but when it did, it went with a bang and sailed right into the opposite wall, banging and clattering to the floor. Thank god it was the safe zone. Feral started wiggling out feet first, not hearing a peep coming from within the room, which _should_ have boded well. It meant Ghost was able to keep Skeeter occupied, and she'd be in and out before anybody was the wiser, just in time to take out good ol' Skeet and plant some incriminating evidence on him.

* * *

The loud clatter of metal wasn't quite enough to startle him fully awake, but it _was_enough for his brain to register and bring him around slowly to his surroundings. Everything was unfocused, making him feel dizzy and unable to quite get his bearings, wanting nothing more than to drift back off to sleep. He had to find out what the noise was though; needed to make sure it wasn't a threat lying in wait to take out Feral. He was supposed to be there to back her up.

It occurred to him then that he didn't know whether he'd successfully downed Skeeter. He wasn't dead so he took that as a good sign, but what was the sound? Forcing his eyes to make more sense out of what they were seeing instead of just blurry images, he realized several things within the span of a few seconds as he turned his head from one side to the other:

One - From his angle on the floor he could just make out Skeeter's form on the ground. The man was down, still, quiet. Dead or tranq'd, it didn't fucking make a difference.

Two - There were legs dangling from the ceiling over by the statue. He knew those legs, and smiled at that knowledge. They were sexy.

Three - He was bleeding, and pain began to set in high on the right side of his chest just a couple inches down from his collar bone.

Four - Along with the pain there was a slight pressure, and he was having a little difficulty breathing. It wasn't so bad at the moment, but he knew it'd get worse.

"Teva," he tried to call out, but his voice came out as nothing more than a broken whisper. It was okay. She'd see him. There was nothing else in that fucking room but lasers, a statue, and two guys who had just shot each other. He just needed to try to stay awake long enough to tell her to get out, anyway, because there was no reason both of them needed to be busted for the robbery. She was on the side of the lasers with the open vent, a path to freedom, while he was on the side with a locked door. It just made the most logical sense, pure and simple. He'd just have to make sure she'd keep to her word about killing Lonnie for him, because doing that from jail might prove to be a little difficult...

Feral pushed herself out the rest of the way, and dropped nimbly to the ground without even a wince. She knew she was injured, but her body hadn't registered the full extent of it yet. It was a dull, hot throb of pain that occurred when she did something wrong, like landing and catching her balance by placing her hands on the wall.

Shit.

She turned, grinning cockily, the first words out of her mouth being a low, excited, "Hello, gorgeous."

That was for the statue though, not the man; once Teva caught sight of the men on the other side of the laser parade, her smiled faded, and an alarmed gasp slipped out. "Ghost?" she hissed, even though clearly she could _see_ it was Ghost. Apparently, though, her mind needed to confirm it. _Please be okay._

From down where he was laying, his view of her was now obstructed by the laser net but he flashed a smile in her direction anyway, not knowing how clearly she could see _him_.

"Hello, gorgeous," he forced out, pushing more of his shortened air supply into the words so she could hear him. "We gotta stop...meeting up like this. Gonna start thinking...I have a thing for...being on the floor."

He had to cut to the chase. Talking too much between his shallower breaths would only make him more tired, and it was wasting time. As much as he wanted to keep her there with him, now was _not_the time for selfish stall tactics.

"Skeeter had a change...in plans, but I...I handled it." He laughed, but cut it off abruptly. It hurt. "You need to get out of here. I'll...cover for you. Just don't forget about...that whole intestine boa thing, okay?"

His eyes were closing against his will again, but he did his best to shake it away. He wasn't going to sleep until she'd left; he _needed_ to make sure she left. Being responsible for her going to prison was not another thing he wanted on his guilty conscience in regards to her.

"You _handled_ it?" she snapped. "Baby, from where I'm standing it looks like the only thing you managed to _handle_ is getting your ass handed to you. Fuck. Fuck! I knew I should have just tied you up and left you back at the apartment. I _knew_this was a bad idea!" Anxiously, she bounced in place and passed her hands through her hand, tugging on the short strands.

"What are we going to do? Shit, geezusfuck, _balcoane_. Ghost," Teva crouched down so that she was in his field of vision, leaning forward as her gaze bored into him with laser-like focus, "You need to get up. You need to open the door, and get the fuck out of this room. Are you listening?"

She hesitated, then admitted, "I'm injured. There's no way I can get through the laser field like this. I can't help you; you have to help yourself."

He started to shake his head when she began to go on about him getting up. It wasn't going to happen. He was too tired, he hurt, and he couldn't breathe very well. The second she said she was injured, though, he stopped and furled his eyebrows at her in concern. He could see it then, barely because of the way she was kneeling down, but he could see the dark shimmer of blood on her shirt. It was all the more reason for her to leave him there; like she said, she wouldn't be able to help him.

"Teva, you need to-"

_What?_ Her eyes narrowed, spitting venom at him. _I need to what?_She dared him with her gaze to finish that sentence at his own peril.

_Shit, _Ghost thought.

The glare she was giving him only intensified, and he flashed back to what she had said earlier about not following orders well. He could see it written all over her face. She wasn't going to fucking budge until he did what she said.

"Goddamn it," he hissed. She wasn't going to jail for him. He needed to get up.

Gritting his teeth, he tucked his right arm up against his chest so he wouldn't use it and aggravate his wound, then rolled himself partially to the side so he could cross his left arm over his body and push himself up. As he tried to get his legs up underneath him, one of his feet slipped and sent him crashing back to the floor against his side, jarring his right shoulder. He didn't make a sound, just turned his face into the ground and tried to breathe past the pain.

"I can't do this," he panted. "Please, _please_, you have to go."

She maintained the look as Ghost struggled to get up and failed. Letting herself feel that fear, that panic, that _care_ wouldn't help her. Once Teva began to soften toward him, they would both end up in crying, bloody heaps on the floor. "You can," she asserted in an unyielding voice like steel. "You _can_do this, you just think it's too fucking hard, that it hurts too much. What the fuck kind of cop out is that? Where is your strength, your pride? Where is the determination that saw you through years of abuse?"

Slapping a hand on the ground for emphasis, Feral bared her teeth in a look that only a very stupid man would call a smile; it was a warning, it was a _growl_. "Is this how you're going to die? Because of some stupid shit that on a good day you could take down with ease and aplomb? Because of _Skeeter_? For fuck's sake, you can't get killed by a guy whose name is _Skeeter_." The look on her face willed him to get up, to move. _Isus Hristos, deschide usa,_ she begged. _Picioare._

Her eyes fell closed as she sent a prayer out to any deity that would listen. Tears burned behind her eyelids, and began to well up. "Please get up," she whispered like the words pained her. "I don't think I could handle the guilt if you died here." Like a woman at a mosque, she touched her forehead to the floor, and tried to push the moisture in her eyes back down wherever it came from. With a watery laugh, Teva stated sardonically, "Besides, how the hell am I going to mack on you if you're dead?"

She glanced up at Ghost, surveying him for any reaction other than nihilistic acceptance of his fate, blinking in the bright lights. A fat tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, and traced a translucent path alongside her nose. As it reached her lip, her tongue darted out absentmindedly to lick it away. In a way, Teva felt like she was the one lying on the floor dying slowly, unable to breathe past the pain. There she was losing another person, saying goodbye to one who in the past week or so had slithered underneath her defenses, and made her _feel_ too much. The weak organ in her chest couldn't handle it; it was stuttering underneath the weight of these things. Never before had seven feet of space felt like miles, like oceans and countries and entire hemispheres of distance. Her own uselessness made her want to cry and rage until the persistent, lonely ache in her subsided once more into its cold, dark silence; she wanted to be absent of a heart, incapable of pain or love, but these attachments were just another way to make herself suffer.

"Thought I told you," he grunted as he got his hand under his body once again, "death doesn't even...want me."

His arm shook as he tried to lever himself up enough to get up on his knees. It wasn't even about the 'macking on him statement' (though that did help motivate him...just a little...) that made him decide to give it another shot. It was more important than that. She was crying...and begging...something Feral didn't do, and fuck if he was going to be the one who broke her spirit like Nate had broken his, because that's where it looked like she was heading right now. He wouldn't do that to her, not like this.

Managing to get his foot solidly beneath him this time, he shoved off and stumbled backwards into the wall, hitting it hard but not enough to send him back down. He leaned back against it for several seconds with his eyes shut as he tried to draw more air into his lungs.

"Good," Teva grunted in relief as Ghost began to try to get up. "I'm glad Death keeps refusing your lame come-ons." That last was said in some last ditch attempt to salvage her dignity, and she watched as Ghost moved painstakingly toward the exit.

The pressure in his lungs had definitely increased, forcing him to take even faster, shallower breaths, but the fact that he _could_ still breathe in regulated amounts was good. It meant the air in his chest cavity was building up at a slow, steady pace as opposed to just cutting off his lung function in one agonizing, crushing moment. If he could get out of there soon enough, he should be able to get somewhere in time where Doc Wagon could safely come pick them up. He almost laughed at that. Those guys _had_to be tired of seeing his face by now.

Opening his eyes, he rolled his head to the side to gauge his distance to the lockbox. It wasn't that far. All he had to do was slide over there, figure out the code, and probably fall on his face in the hallway, but at least he will have gotten out of the room like she'd wanted. Did he even know the code, though?

_Think, Ghost, did you see it?_

Numbers flashed into his head. Yes, yes, he _had_seen it, had been watching when he wasn't even aware of it because his livelihood required him to make note of things like door codes. Thinking back to when he was drugged out, terrified of his vivid flashbacks, and wishing he could remove his Mnemonic Enhancer, he was now eternally grateful that he hadn't gone through with that operation. The thing just saved his ass.

"Hey," he breathed out as he slowly made his way to the box, keeping his weight mostly against the wall. "Get your statue...and meet me...on the other side." Stopping to rest for a second, he shot her another small half-smile. "You can...tie me to...the bed...all you want...when we get home."

She snorted wryly. Humor was familiar, less intense than this insane _need_she had for him to survive. Feral retreated to emotional safety, covering up her near-panic with a quipped, "Double-knotted." Slowly, she got to her feet, and watched his progress.

Abruptly, she realized a better use of her time would be to make the swap. Taking out a small black device strapped around her waist, Teva inputted the correct weight into the box. Its design was ingenious, and it was expensive as fuck, a custom order. It was pretty much a modern scale unit. Input the correct amount, and its mass automatically adjusted to the perfect heft. Genius, true genius.

"You should leave before I make the swap," she said, "Because if I screw this up, the room goes into lockdown, pumping a sedative out of those little holes between the rows of laser mounts." Feral smiled grimly. "For monks, these guys are not all that trusting."

"No shit," he murmured as he reached the box. He started to turn back to tell her she'd better not fuck it up, because if she did and wound up getting trapped in that room, all it would accomplish would be her slipping off to dreamland in there while he slowly suffocated to death out in the hall unless his Wagon alert tripped on time to pull him out of there. He had tried to suck in too large a breath to speak with, though, and the air pressing against his lung made the breath catch in his throat for a couple frightening seconds. It was hard to keep panic from setting in as he struggle to regain the lost air and his shallow breathing pattern, but once he had it back under some semblance of control, he simply gave her a small nod and turned his attention to the box again.

Whispering a small, "Be careful," he keyed in the code and waited a beat as the door slid open. Looking at her one more time, he gave her a weak little salute and slid around the corner of the doorway, disappearing from her sight before he let himself crumble back to the floor. He couldn't let himself fall back to sleep though, not yet. She was counting on him to make it out of there with her, and he had no intention of letting her down now.

* * *

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Eight

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: Near death! Survival! Slim odds. Frightened medical staff! This is a fun chapter.

The Beta Branch Plea: Come join! We're awesome! All fandoms welcome. Doesn't matter if you're a writer or a beta or both. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

The door slid shut behind Ghost, locking her in the cool, quiet vault. Feral took a steadying breath, and eyed the statue. She really was gorgeous. "You better be worth the trouble," she breathed, and squared herself in front of the shrine's display.

Very, very carefully she gripped Kali's head in her hand, the cold, golden edges biting into her palm through the glove. She took another calming breath, and got the mass box ready in her other hand to slide on while levering the statue up.

Worry started niggling at her heels, but no, Feral knew she couldn't focus on that right now. Ghost was fine. She needed to be in this moment, not worried about what was happening out in the hall.

Slowly, she began to lift, inching the box onto the platform bit by bit, letting the feel of the weights in her hands guide her. The switch had to be just right, absolutely perfect. It had to be equally distributed the entire time; otherwise Ghost wouldn't be the only one with a criminal SIN. Breathing deeply, meditatively, Feral pushed all thoughts of Brandon, failure, consequences, pain, _everything_out of her mind. The world narrowed down to the pull of the muscles in her arms, discerning the information their strain sent to her.

After an eternity, her breath froze as she simultaneously lifted the last of the statue's weight off the shrine, and placed the full mass of the box in its spot. Quickly, Teva backed away, and felt sweat run from her hairline down her temple. She clutched Kali to her chest, panting to make up for the lack of oxygen. "Thank you," Feral whispered under her breath. She slipped the statue inside a black cloth bag that she'd stashed in the lining of her hat, and shoved the cap back into her waistband.

"Up we go," Teva chirped, and pushed Kali up into the ventilation, then got a running start to jump against the wall, and hook her hands in the vent, moving the statue further into the dark passage with her body as she pulled herself in.

Grabbing the bag's strings, she lowered the statue onto the settee in the library, slightly off to one side so that she could somersault out onto the settee. Gasping from the sudden sharp stab of agony through her ribs-her pain resistance was wearing off rapidly, enough that she could tell the knife had definitely nicked bone, and probably something softer and more fragile too-Feral lay there a moment trying to regain her strength. She had to get Ghost, and he definitely wasn't going to be walking very far on her own. Ripping open another package, Teva plastered a pain patch on her stomach.

Allowing herself not another moment to linger, Teva slipped on the straps of the sack, sliding it onto her back, and headed for the door as quietly as she could, sparing a moment to ascertain that the monk was still knocked out at the desk. Carefully, she cracked open the door to the hallway, eyes darting back and forth before she braved the network of corridors.

* * *

He was drifting, but trying very hard not to. In an effort not to fall asleep he had pushed himself back up into a sitting position against the wall and, with his head continually lolling down to rest against his own shoulder, he resorted to lightly tapping his finger along to whatever songs popped into his mind, using the tunes to help keep his breathing steady. His thoughts spiraled to Lonnie as they often had a nagging tendency to do, so he averted them into something more productive, trying to devise some plan to take him out as opposed to being tormented by torturous memories.

The biggest problem with Lonnie would be going up against his magic. Neither he nor Feral were magicians, so confronting the man in a head-on fight would only lead to more incidents like...

That flash memory woke him up a little, temporarily tripping up his breathing again in the process. He had a harder time getting it back under control than he had before, and he felt a stray tear roll down his face as panic subsided when he could draw in air again. Suffocating to death was _not_a fun way to go. He was glad the concept of hanging himself had never entered the picture in his earlier suicide attempts.

_Focus, Brandon,_he ordered himself. Feral should be coming for him any time now, and it'd be great if he could tell her he'd been productive while he'd been sitting there being useless.

He supposed he could just go with long range sniper tactics, but that'd be too merciful for someone like Lonnie, and wouldn't give Brandon a chance at that final confrontation. Hiring an outside Mage would be a possibility but he again shied away from the idea. This was too personal to just pull strangers into. There _had_to be a way to get past Lonnie's magic, make it up close and personal, and not hire outside help.

Ghost let out a tiny breath that would've been a sigh if he'd had the lung capacity for it. There was a lot working against him, and the only thing working _for_him was the fact that Lonnie thought he was dead. Maybe just showing up out of the blue would give the old man a heart attack. Brandon smirked at the thought, then shook his head. Lonnie wouldn't go down that easily, even if he thought he was fighting a ghost.

A little light bulb went off in Brandon's head and his small smirk grew into a weak, but very happy smile. The plan forming in his half-unconscious, rambling-thoughts mind was crazy, but maybe crazy was exactly what he needed. It could work. He just needed to live long enough to get there.

* * *

By the time Feral reached Ghost, the slap patch had kicked in, and she was both jittery from the stims and a little fuzzy around the edges of her brain from the pain killers.

Kneeling down next to him, she silently looped his left arm over her shoulder and pulled them both up, heading for the library as fast as her legs could carry her with Bran's extra weight. His breathing didn't sound good. Shit.

At the window, Teva motioned that she was going to go first. That way if somebody had woken up, she'd be in the clear to shoot their asses again, and she could help catch Ghost because clearly he was far too injured to do it by himself. And no, that was not an excuse to get her hands on him.

She hopped out over the sill, landing next to the sleeping Trick. Growling, Teva kicked the unconscious man in the ribs, and shoved him underneath the building's overhang. Slapping the sill, Feral indicated that Ghost should get his ass out there pronto.

_Sorry, B, can't go out the front door._

It barely registered what was going on when Feral was suddenly there and hoisting him off the floor. Clearly he was more out of it than he had thought, and he worked on pulling himself together while she worked on hauling them both through the temple. He wanted to talk to her, ask her about her wound, tell her about the insane plan he had forming in his head, thank her for not leaving him behind, but breathing was hard enough to do without adding talking into the mix. Besides, she seemed like she was in quiet commando mode so he figured it'd be best to follow suit and keep his mouth shut for the time being. Well, not _literally_because his breaths came in and out a little easier through his mouth than they did his nose.

She dragged him to a window and disappeared over the edge. Was she expecting him to jump down after her? Oh my god, she was. Crazy woman. He was going to land right on top of her.

Sitting on the sill, he swung one leg over the edge while gripping the frame with his good hand, and trying to shoo her away with the other so he could just fall wherever gravity took him. Hauling his weight around when he was partially helping her was one thing, _catching_ the full brunt of his falling weight was another, and she was going to injure herself further if she tried. She didn't look like she had any intention of budging, though, so this time he was going to try some hardball tactics of his own. Leaning forward so he could rest his forehead against the window frame, he turned his face towards her enough so she could catch the hard glare that he hoped came close to mirroring the one she had given _him_ back in the statue room. The message still should've been clear though: either she needed to step back or he wasn't going anywhere.

Teva glared right back, and pantomimed smoking a cigarette, relaxing her posture so as to say 'I can do this all night.'

She raised a quizzical brow after her little demonstration, silently adding, 'How about you?'

Making an impatient rolling gesture from her side off into the distance, Feral tried to impress upon him just how urgent it was that they leave.

Besides, just how big did he think he was? Feral had been hauling around 250 pound mongoloids for ages all by herself. She could help catch one little-_note to self: don't call him little to his face; guys don't like that_-'runner even with a four inch stab wound. She was feeling _good_, dammit, and in comparison to him, Feral was doing leaps and bounds better.

She put her hands on her waist petulantly, and popped her hip out to one side, rocking the toe of her running shoe up and down. Nearly tapping, but not quite fast enough for that.

If anyone asked later, it was sheer coincidence that caused him to tip out the window towards her instead of back in, not because he gave in to her silent demands. As it happened, whether time was just making itself known or the cooler outside air had made his condition progress even faster, he found himself at the point where his lungs apparently didn't want to expand anymore. He was fighting to suck in the tiniest amounts of oxygen and his lightheadedness was the deciding factor in him moving off the sill...or more like _falling_off the sill.

He didn't really know what happened at that point, whether she'd actually caught him and gone down with him under his dead weight, or if she'd wisely moved and let him hit the ground, but it was no longer on his list of priorities or even concerns. His only focus was on the fact that he couldn't fucking breathe, and if they didn't find some way to relieve the pressure from his chest, then he was going to be unconscious pretty fucking quickly.

"Unf." She grunted as Ghost's weight hit her, but managed to control his fall so that she sat him down gently with his back up against the part of the house that stuck out.

Shit. There was like no air coming out of his mouth, and no words either. That wasn't good. His lungs couldn't expand. Teva knew there was a name for that, but couldn't for the life of her remember what it was. Anyway, she didn't really need to; she knew how to hold off the damaging effects for a little while. Just...

Feral yanked her cigarette pack out from underneath her bra strap, and slid the plastic off. The tiny crinkle sounded abnormally loud in the quiet night. "Ghost, I'm going to help you get some oxygen, okay?" she whispered. "Just do what I say."

Teva slipped out another slap patch. He'd get some narcotic effects from it, but right now it was all they had. She ripped it into four strips about a half inch wide each. It would be enough. With her left hand, Feral tugged up Ghost's shirt, exposing the bullet wound that was slowly asphyxiating him. She positioned the plastic over the bloody wound, smearing a little red on the inside of the clear film. Grabbing one of the strips she'd torn, Feral peeled off the paper, and taped the bottom, then did the same thing with the two sides.

_Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic,_ became his inner mantra, doing his best to keep his eyes glued on Feral, watching what she was doing and listening to what she was saying just so he had something else to focus on. He broke contact for a second as she taped the plastic over his wound, his eyes closing involuntarily against the pain as he cringed back. The sudden darkness coupled with the lack of air made him feel instantly claustrophobic though, so he forced himself to look at her again before he broke his _'don't panic'_rule.

She could see that it was painful. Fortunately, the only time Teva had suffered similar wounds, she'd already been half dead from a dozen other things, and unconscious when she was treated.

"I need you to cough." Feral kept her voice low as she spoke, but there was urgency there, earnestness, and just a smidgen of sympathy. "You have to force the air out." She pressed her hand on his chest a little to assist. "It's going to hurt; I'm sorry."

Okay, coughing, that made sense, he could take a little pain, right?

So he tried it, just a tiny one, but the voluntary contracting of his muscles coupled with her pressing on his chest hurt like fucking hell. He cut off the attempt and shook his head, his eyes pleading with her for there to be another way, but she didn't let up. The air shifting around in his chest with her added pressure was aggravating, and it wasn't long before he lost the fight to hold the next cough in check, which came out as one longer one followed by a few smaller ones.

_Oh god!_he shouted in his head, and a small cry escaped his lips along with the coughs. It then registered in his head that producing sound meant there was air, which meant that as much as this was fucking killing him, it was also working.

Testing his lung function, he sucked in a small, tentative breath, relishing the slight expansion of his lungs for a second before he reluctantly made himself cough it back out again. Feral helped push more of the excess air out of the hole, and his next breath came a little easier. He was crying shamelessly by the time he could draw in a full breath, but part of that was in relief on top of the pain.

"...You...suck," he groaned quietly when he could find his voice again, but he smiled at her. He owed her a big fucking kiss when this was all over.

Keeping an eye on his breathing, once Ghost was able to draw a full breath, Feral sealed up the bandage. She winked. "I'm going to pass that off as some kind of delirium, because _clearly _I am awesome," she stated in hushed tones.

She slid his shirt back down, and stood up, hefting Brandon with her. "We gotta go. Been here way too long."

As they trotted along through the courtyard to the front gate-after all, she wasn't going to make him try and go over the wall in his condition-Teva registered something light and almost hysterical whip through her veins. They did it! They were getting out of there, something in her cried in elation. Her breath came a little short as they slipped through the gate, and she spotted the stolen car on the street corner, stuffing Ghost into the passenger seat.

Once she got him in the car and shut the door, it was his plan to go ahead and just let himself pass out leaning his face up against the cool window. His chest hurt like he'd been trampled by an elephant, and though the slight tingle from the cut up strips of slap patch were a startlingly welcoming sensation (like his drug-hungry body was a dried up plant desperately sucking at a drop of water), it wasn't doing much to cut the pain. He was too used to stronger substances for part of a single patch to really be all that effective on that caliber of wound.

Folding herself into the driver's seat, Feral had to close her eyes against an unexpected burst of _something_, and black dots swam in her field of vision. She tried to play it off, but in that instant Teva knew that Ghost wasn't the only one who needed a doctor.

"How do I start this without the ignition key?" Feral asked. She could drive like a demon, but beyond that Teva really had no idea how cars worked. Using her PAN, she pulled up a map of the closest Doc Wagon, pressing a hand against her jacket over the trauma patch.

Maybe she'd underestimated the damage a little, Feral thought to herself as she lost her pallor.

Shit. He _had _to go steal an older model that still required an ignition key, didn't he? Of course he did. It was easier than having to spoof the car's systems inside and out so alerts wouldn't go off the second he sat down in the driver's seat. Well, easier when leaning under the dash to fuck with wiring didn't involve working around a bullet in his chest. It should still be him that did it though; hotwiring a car was trickier than it looked to the untrained eye.

"Let me..." he started as he rolled his head to the other side to look at her. She didn't look good. Not good at all. "Shit, Teva, are you..." He was going to ask if she was okay, but it was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't. Her face had paled considerably, too much to be anywhere _near_ okay. Now he was starting to panic for _her_, which was far more difficult to control than when he was panicking for himself. It made regulating his breathing a challenge again.

"We don't...we don't have to drive...okay?" His hand grabbed hers in an involuntary gesture of comfort and reassurance. "I can...I can call Wagon. I have...a biomonitor...probably already sent a...a signal." He smiled. "Bet they're...already on standby. They come...come for me a lot."

Looking at how close the car was parked to the temple, he frowned. The Wagon would treat them out there, no problem, but their presence may alert any temple guards to the fact that something suspicious had just gone down. Not that the medic team wouldn't get him and Feral out safely - HTR pickup was part of what he paid for, after all - but it'd be better not to have a confrontation at all.

"Might have to...move a little further...further away. You up for that?"

Teva squeezed his hand, and made herself breathe slower. She had a feeling that she was bleeding internally, but couldn't tell how bad it was. That was the shitty thing about being an adept. Sure, her body could resist feeling the pain for awhile, but in some cases that wasn't really a benefit. In the meantime while she was hopped up on adrenaline and numbness, she could be doing more damage to herself. Shit, she probably _was_.

Then, of course, when the resistance faded, the effects caught up rapidly.

She nodded. "Yes. I'll be okay."

Stepping out of the vehicle, Feral told her body to hang in there just a little longer. Then she could collapse for the next week or so curled up around the statue, or Ghost, or a pillow, or whatever. She bit her lip, struggling against the lightheadedness, and opened up Ghost's door.

"Fuck, let's hurry," Teva gasped urgently, and closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness, balancing herself with a hand on the roof of the car.

"Hey, hey...we just have to get...around the corner...out of sight, okay?" he said worriedly as he clumsily got out of the car, and had to lean on the vehicle for support as much as she did. That brought forth another painful laugh, but he couldn't help it. "Shit...twenty nuyen says we...fall at least...four times...on the way there."

Jesus, she looked bad. He had come with her to try to _prevent_ this sort of thing, and it seemed all he managed to accomplish was possibly just getting them _both _killed. Great fucking back-up he turned out to be.

He _could _at least get her some fast medical care, but that required getting them down the street and around the corner so the temple guards wouldn't see the armored ambulance. She didn't look like she was in any shape to be holding him up anymore, no less herself, and he wasn't exactly in prime "carry another person" condition, either. They'd just have to stumble down there on their own willpower, maybe using each other for support here and there along the way.

For a moment he thought about getting back in the car, hotwiring it, and just driving them both down the block, but quickly decided against it. He only had one good arm to work with, the bending under the dash would make him twice as lightheaded (not to mention the awkward position it would put him in would hurt like hell), and the extra time it would require to make the attempt might be time Feral didn't have. There was no way he could tell how bad her injury was, and if he couldn't pull off the hotwire within a couple minutes he would have simply wasted the opportunity they currently held. It was just too risky. They needed to get moving. Now.

Pushing away from the car he found his balance somewhere amidst the dizziness, and held his hand out to her again. His comm was pulling up the Wagon number even as he stood there waiting for her, ready to start moving the second she took his hand.

A woman's voice answered...familiar...sounded like that nurse who had bitched about wasting their magic on strung out alc-

_Fuck._

"I need...an SRT...soon as they can...get here," he said in a hurried fashion, already nearly taking them both down as he stumbled.

"I'm surprised, Ghost," she answered in an almost snippy tone. "Normally you just wait it out 'til you need the resuscitation service. What'd you do this time? Actually shoot yourself then decided maybe you didn't want to go out that way?"

He shut his eyes for a second in frustration. What kind of nurse talked to their patients like that? Ones fed up with their bullshit, that's who. This was his own fault, really; he would've been fed up with him, too. "No, not...I _am _shot, but not...I didn't do it. On a 'run...this time."

Walking was hard. Breathing was hard. Talking on the comm _while _walking required a lot of coordination he didn't fucking have. He went down. "That's one..." he grinned over at Feral apologetically.

Concentrating on walking was far more difficult than it should have been. Feral still stubbornly insisted that she was _just fine, motherfuckers_, at least in her own head. She didn't have the energy to bother repeating it aloud. Every last bit of her reserves was focused on keeping herself and Ghost moving.

She stopped and helped him back up as he stumbled, but her effort was a little less enthusiastic than it had been only moments before at the temple. Teva just didn't have the strength anymore. Shortness of breath, dizziness, weakness, and geezusfuck her heartbeat was fast and thready. Not only were those signs of internal bleeding and the resulting low blood pressure, but it was also indicative that she was going into shock. The patches had bought her some time, but that was all.

"One what?" the nurse asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing...We need that...SRT...two injured."

"Two? No wonder you're calling. Can't stand the thought of your stupidity getting someone else killed, huh? I'm honestly surprised it didn't happen sooner." _God_, she was being a bitch. What the hell was she doing answering the phone, anyway? Probably saw it was him and picked up the call just to fuck with him. Forget about it being his fault for pissing her off, this was crossing a line. He was going to see about getting her fired for this...later, when he had nothing better to do. "Well, listen, Ghost, for some strange reason tonight is a high traffic night. Unless one of you is actually dying _right now_, you're going to have to wait a few extra minutes. I've got your location in the tracker so just find somewhere safe to sit tight and we'll get you out."

_What?_

While she walked and tried to breathe, Feral reexamined the angle of the wound in her mind's eye. It was just too dodgy. That particular area held a lot of vital pieces. Major veins and arteries, smaller veins and arteries, her liver... The attack had happened too fast; Teva couldn't remember the precise trajectory of the blade as it sat in her skin.

A cold sweat broke out all over her body, and she wobbled.

"What? No, no wait...no waiting. I have a...a...fuck...hole in my chest, and she..." It was her turn to go down this time, and despite his best efforts to keep her up, he just wound up on the ground, too. _Two_ he counted off with his fingers. "She's...bad...please. Not for me...she needs help."

Teva used a lamp post to pull herself back up.

The nurse's voice softened as she spoke this time, apparently having heard the desperate sincerity in his tone. "I'll see who I can get out there, Ghost, honest. It really is a busy night; that's why I'm on call duty. Unless one of you is on the verge of flat-lining there's going to be priorities over you. I'll watch your stats, you check in with readouts on hers every couple minutes, okay? You start heading too far south we'll divert a wagon, but try to hang in there. It won't be too long, just longer than normal, but you both'll be okay. We'll come get you. I got another call, though, so I need to run. Send me those stats in a couple minutes."

She hung up on him. Crazy fucking bitch needed a less stressful job - going from snotty to sounding concerned and nice to hanging up on him? That was not okay.

"They're coming," he assured Feral anyway as they got to their feet again. If he needed to he'd speed up the process a little bit himself. He wasn't going to watch her slowly die on him.

_Yeah, whatever._She had no more energy to comment, just kept walking forward resolutely.

They finally got around the corner. Feral made it another eight feet to the stoop of an apartment building, and collapsed. She put her hand over her heart, counting the beats as a way to focus against the weakness that threatened to take her under. Eyelids fluttering, Teva focused on Ghost saying very intently, "If you have trouble breathing again, you need to take...off the top sticky, and cough like we did before...otherwise you're gonna die very badly." She said it like it was the most important thing she'd ever had to say in her life. A shaky breath later, Teva unceremoniously passed out.

"Teva," he hissed as he let himself fall down beside her. "Come on...don't...don't do this. I lost...the bet. You want...your money...right?"

Panic began to set in even more as he tapped her face and she didn't respond. He was going to lose her. He was going to lose her while waiting for the goddamn medics to show up. That thought reminded him to check her vitals, and he sent them off to the clinic as soon as he had everything. They didn't look good.

"Hang on for me...please," he begged quietly while he waited for the return reply, brushing his fingers across her pale cheek.

His comm pinged back a message a second later: _Been moved up the queue. Please continue to wait._

Moved up the queue? By how much? What the hell did that even mean?

He knew what it meant. The meds really weren't coming until someone was right on the verge of flat lining. They weren't coming until someone needed a full resuscitation, not just emergency medical care. One of them needed to pretty much die in order to get their names to the top of that fucking queue.

They'd get the message faster through his biomonitor than they would through him monitoring her and sending messages. Plus, he had already vowed that he wasn't about to just sit there and watch the one person who had truly cared about him since Nate left die. The question was, how should he do it? _This time,_he added somberly. Guess he was going back to the clinic for self-inflicted injuries, after all.

He already couldn't breathe very well again. Maybe if he just ignored Teva's order and left the patch taped down it would do the job. That might be too slow, though... No, he needed something faster. Fingering his guns, he pulled them out and this time made sure to check to see which one held the live rounds. He moved as quickly as his injury would allow to detach the silencer from Teva's pistol and attach it to his - didn't need someone inside the apartment calling authorities or anything before the medics got there.

"Gonna get you...some help," he promised as he worked. "Just gonna make...a new hole...to let the air out...just like you said." She was going to be pissed at him if she found out about what he was doing, bending her words around like that. But she was unconscious, so unless the docs told on him she'd never know. They were both going to wake up in the clinic just like he had a dozen times before, share a laugh over this whole Murphy's Law debacle, and go back to his place so she could tie him to the bed and have her way with him.

The thought made him smile and he took a second to look at her, tracing his finger along her pale lips. "Stay with me," he whispered, and leaned down to place a long, gentle kiss on those lips. "For luck," he added as he pulled away, his smile turning sad.

Maneuvering himself so he was back against the wall, he painstakingly moved her so she was lying down with her head on his lap. Brushing his right hand through her hair like she'd done for him when they were on the couch, he held the gun in his left hand and turned it so it pressed against his chest much further down than the first hole, making sure it was aiming between ribs.

_Just making a new ventilation shaft,_ he told himself again, knowing it for the obvious lie that it was. Didn't matter. It'd be just like all the other times. Death _didn't_want him.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

Foreign sounds, beeps, whirs, unfamiliar voices speaking in murmurs, and the smell of antiseptic and lemon scented cleaning supplies was what woke her. Eyes flying open, Teva realized her hand was patting the covers, searching automatically for some kind of weapon. It was reflex, nothing personal, and as a nurse came in the room to check on her, she glared viciously.

"Well, look who's awake," the nurse cooed unflappably. She smiled, and made a note on her e-chart, then moved to Teva's bedside. The woman made some notations off of Feral's vital monitors. "You gave us a bit of a scare. You were bleeding internally. A stab wound severed some of your hepatic veins and punctured the liver. Essentially, you were drowning in your own blood." She sounded absurdly cheerful about that.

Feral pushed herself so that she was sitting up, remembering abruptly just how much she hated medical professionals of any kind. For someone who'd been so adamant about certain other people seeking professional aide when injured, it was almost a given that she would never do the same. The paranoia was too ingrained in her from her childhood. People would do anything for money, even sell out a dying woman at a clinic. 'You mustn't go to the hospital, Teva. If they find out we are not really supposed to be here, they may call the authorities.' 'You can only trust someone until you can't.' It was part of the reason why she'd never bought a Wagon contract of her own. That and because for the most part, she didn't need it. Working with a magic user had its benefits, chief among them being healing magic for critical wounds.

"Where is Ghost?" she growled.

The nurse disregarded her in kind, well-meaning tones. "Don't you worry about him right now, honey. You just get better." She injected something into Feral's I.V. line. "This will help you rest." A smooth smile, somehow detached from true caring appeared on the woman's face.

Teva watched the drug travel down the line, and lifted her lip in a snarl. "Where. Is. Ghost," she repeated, a warning leaking into her words.

Clucking her tongue, the nurse replied, "He's just down the hall, recovering from surgery just like you. Now, please get some rest. The doctor will be in to see you later."

Feral shot a venomous stare at the woman's retreating backside, and as soon as the door closed, she started yanking off the various instruments strapped onto her skin, beginning with the I.V. and ending with the heart monitor, which she flipped off before actually peeling off the sticky pads. Sliding off the bed, she retrieved her items from the slender, gray hospital-typical closet, and poked her head out in the hall. When there was a break in the personnel wandering through, she fled, keeping one hand on the wall for balance.

Eyes on the name plates-her own had used her fake SIN, Sarah James-she looked for Ghost, found his room, and slipped inside. With a sigh, Teva looked at his sleeping self, dumped her things on the ground next to the recliner covered in some sort of plastic or vinyl, and curled up in the backside-bearing hospital gown.

Five minutes later when the nurse came in to check on her escaped patient, Feral had already drifted back off. Rolling her eyes, the woman muttered under her breath, "'runners. Worst patients ever." She pulled a spare blanket out of the closet, and draped it over the young woman in the chair, then quietly left the room.

* * *

He was dreaming again, but this time it had nothing to do with Lonnie. He was back on the street, Teva dying on his lap, him trying not to scream as the bullet bounced endlessly around in his chest, popping his lung and shredding it to so many bloody pieces like a dog playing with a balloon. He wasn't dying though, because Death didn't want him. All he could do was sit there in eternal agony while he watched her bleed to death in his arms. Her skin grew cold, air stopped flowing in and out of her lungs, the heart beating beneath his hand stalled out, stuttered, and stopped entirely.

"No," he muttered. "Please, don't go."

A hand on his shoulder woke him up, and he would've jolted upright if said hand hadn't held him down.

"Calm down, son, you're okay," the doctor ordered, used to the nightmare drill with this particular patient.

Brandon settled back into the familiar bed, looking at the familiar face in agitation. "I told you not to call me that," he murmured before the memory of the dream drifted back to him. His eyes went wide. "The girl that was with me - where is she? Is she okay?"

The doctor merely pointed a finger over to where Teva was curled up asleep in the chair. "It was a close call, but she'll be fine," he assured Ghost, who relaxed visibly. Then the doctor turned a disapproving glare on him. "_You_were nearly beyond 'close call' this time, even more than usual. One of these days we're not going to be able to bring you back, you know. You're not as invincible as you might think."

"I know," Ghost whispered as he looked fondly at his more-than-friend-but-not-his-girlfriend. "Had to get her help," he explained.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you killing yourself in the process would've made her so very grateful," the doctor harrumphed. "The one hole would've been enough. Didn't need to go adding two more. Trying to close those up, get air and blood back into you, all while digging that other bullet out was almost too much."

Teva woke to the doctor arguing with Ghost, but kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep. Fuck doctors. Those guys were sadists. All of them. _Whaaaaat?_Her mind tripped and stuttered over the fact that Ghost had apparently shot himself to get them quicker medical attention.

_Two?_He only shot himself the once...oh, which meant his dream was way off. Of course it would've been a through and through-

"And no, it wasn't a clean shot," the doctor snapped at him, apparently reading his thoughts. "Silencer dampening the velocity, the fact that you were up against a brick wall, the angle of your hand; son, that bullet ricocheted off your rib in the back and threw it back out the front. You're _damn_ lucky it didn't dance around in there and just kill you outright. If your goal is just to play at committing suicide instead of actually doing it, you need to be a lot smarter about it. That one," he shook his head, "that one was almost end game."

_Goddammit_, she hissed inwardly.

Brandon furled his brows. "I didn't-"

Fuck it. Arguing would be pointless. These guys knew him for what he was and nothing he could say at that point would convince them otherwise. It didn't really matter what they thought, anyway. The only person whose opinion mattered was curled up in the chair beside him, very much alive. His measures may have been overly drastic, but they had worked. Yep, it _had_ been end game. And he'd won.

_It's okay, doc, I'll kill him myself for this stupid stunt. _

"What?" the doctor asked.

Shit. Did she just say that out loud? Hesitantly, Teva cracked open an eyelid, and found both the doctor and Brandon staring at her. _Yes. Yes, I did._ She gave up the jig, opening her eyes all the way, and fixing Bran with a frown that promised he'd be _lucky_ if she tied him to the bed after this. "I'm not going to say anything," she began coolly, "because you already know the kind of words that are going to come spewing out of my mouth if I do."

Sliding her gaze to the doctor, Teva inclined her chin almost regally. "Thank you for fixing him." As an afterthought she added, "And me."

"You're welcome," the doctor replied with equal gravity. "Now maybe once I'm done checking on your friend, I can give you a little exam as well?"

Feral frowned.

"If you want medication," the doctor teased, "You have to let me examine you. You're lucky I'm not having the nursing staff haul you back to your room."

Her glare was acidic.

"I won't," the doctor added hastily. "I just want to make sure you're okay. Disconnecting all of the monitoring equipment, we can't be sure. You understand."

With a sigh, she conceded. She really could use some pain pills. "Fine," Teva huffed. "Then when can we leave?"

The doctor slapped Brandon's hand down from trying to pull the oxygen tube from his nose, and proceeded to listen to his breathing while he talked to Feral. "You're from New Orleans, Ms. James. May I call you Sarah?" He waited for her nod. "Then you should know that the larger city Wagons can't afford to fully heal using just magic. With our influx of patients and limited number of Awakened staff, we can only afford to heal as much as the injury requires before we have to finish the job the old fashioned way. By your visible scars it seems you already know that. I'm surprised you keep them, honestly. Most people have them erased after they've left our care," he shot a look up into Ghost's eyes, "otherwise they'd look like they had just survived some sort of horrid slasher trid with as often as they come in here."

Brandon turned away from him, _and_ her. She wasn't supposed to have known about him shooting himself. There was no way he was going to be able to convince her that he'd done it to save her life, that he had no intention of actually dying. If he wanted to die he'd have shot himself on the other side of his chest, plain and simple. The fact that he hadn't thought about the bullet ricocheting around was only due to the fact that he was unable to think clearly, _hadn't_really been thinking clearly since before he caught up to Skeeter. He had just been too tired.

"That being said," the doctor continued to Feral, "I would like to keep you at least another night, but based on the look on your face I'm assuming you aren't going to go for that, so I'll make you a deal. You stay here for a few more hours, let me look at you, have a magician heal you a little more when I have one available, then you may go home with a pain prescription and strict instructions to take it easy. Ghost, I want you here overnight, two if I can convince you."

"Why?" he asked, and when the doc glanced over at Teva, added, "You can tell me in front of her."

The doctor nodded. "Without further treatment sessions the damage we were able to repair to your lung could tear easily with too much strenuous activity. I need you here where I can monitor your progress and make sure you stay still while we continue with the healing regimes. I also want to make certain that this time you talk to our resident-"

"I told you before I'm not talking to your shrink," Brandon snapped. He'd had this conversation every time he wound up there. Of course, usually he got to go home within a day, not be trapped there for one, maybe two nights. He could tell he wasn't going to be able to make a run for it either, even if he tried. His body just didn't have the energy for it. "And I _didn't_try to kill myself."

"You put a gun to your chest and pulled the trigger, so I'd beg to differ. You _need_help, Brandon. You take that one step further next time and it'll be your last. You're not leaving here until you talk to-"

"She was dying! I had to get your fucking people out there somehow! What the fuck else was I supposed to do? I'm not saying a goddamn thing to your fucking shrink because I. don't. need it!"

The alarms started beeping as Brandon's heart rate elevated along with his outburst, and a couple nurses rushed into the room with syringes.

"Don't, _don't!_" he shouted as they moved to push the sedatives into his IV, remembering how good just the little bit of narcotic from the slap patch had felt. Dangerously good. In desperation, he tried to yank the tube out of his hand, but the doctor caught his wrist. "I just got fucking clean! Feral, help! _Please!_ I wasn't trying to kill myself! I swear on Nate's grave, I wasn't!"

The strange thing was that she believed him. Brandon honestly thought that he was doing something noble by flat-lining himself...to save her. And if that little tidbit of knowledge wasn't enough to make a girl's heart skip a beat, even a girl like Teva, then she was impossible to move at all.

The cock of the gun seemed very loud, and she aimed it at the woman with the syringe. "He said no," Feral growled. It was one of the dumbest things she'd ever done, pulling a pistol on medical professionals.

Every eye in the room was on the small woman in the chair holding a weapon in one hand, and pushing the blanket off her lap with the other. She stood up very slowly.

"He is within his rights to refuse any medication or treatment he wishes to, and if you try to coerce him, he also has the right to get up and walk out of here Against Medical Advisement, and there is nothing any of you can do about it," Feral explained with surgical precision. "He did just go through an extensive withdrawal period. Those kinds of drugs will almost certainly send him right back to a dealer, so cap the syringe, and step away from the I.V."

Sneering, she growled, "And people wonder why I don't like doctors."

The nurse turned, wide-eyed, to look at the doctor, a question in her eyes. "Sir?"

He nodded carefully, eyes still on the gun. "Do as she says."

Slowly, the woman backed up.

The doctor turned to look at Feral. "Apparently he's not the only one that needs a shrink," he stated with a thread of humor in his voice while releasing Ghost's wrist, and backing up a step or two.

With a dismissive look, Teva replied, "Everybody needs a shrink, according to a shrink, even you." She slowly lowered the weapon. "Now, if we understand each other, I'd like some scrubs, please." The smile on Teva's face was positively angelic. "My ass is cold, and I assume my clothes were introduced to the garbage can when we came in." Pointedly, she flicked the safety on, but kept the weapon gripped in her hand, hanging loosely at her side.

"Thank you," Brandon breathed out as he collapsed back onto his pillow, and said it again for good measure as he closed his eyes and made himself take slow, deep breaths of oxygen. Flipping out probably hadn't been the best idea, but the doc had made him mad. He'd been fighting with fucking therapists for most of his younger life, and the notion of being actually _forced _to see yet another one when this time he really didn't need to, it was too much. Now his chest hurt, though, and he couldn't even ask for any pain medication.

"Darlene, get Sarah here some scrubs," the doctor said over his shoulder as he watched Ghost's breathing. "Kristi, if you could please get some Opiorphin for Ghost I'm sure he'd greatly appreciate it." Looking between the two patients he explained further, "It's all natural, just an enhanced version of a substance found in human saliva. Contrary to what some may believe, it isn't possible to become physically addicted to kissing, so I'm certain you'll be okay."

Brandon couldn't help but smile a little at that as he shot a glance at Teva.

Teva smiled back at Brandon, almost laughing at the doctor's kissing comment. Not that they'd really done much of that. A kiss for luck didn't count, at least not in her mind. Perhaps later on they could test the theory.

He tensed up when his doc stepped closer to him. "Relax, I just want to check your lungs again, then if your friend will allow, I'll do my check on her and leave you two alone for a bit. I've clearly overstepped my bounds, and I apologize. Brandon, I'm very glad to hear that you're taking the steps to stay clean. If you need further help with that, I'd be happy to offer my services."

Nodding, Ghost let the man do a recheck while Darlene came back with the scrubs, and Kristi came back with the medication.

When the women returned, Teva accepted a pair of scrubs from one of the nurses with a vague tilt of her lips. It wasn't quite a grin, but it was better than nothing. "Sorry about the whole threatening to shoot you thing," Feral murmured, shrugging sheepishly.

The nurse shot her a bemused look, but finally shook her head. "It's not the craziest thing I've ever seen a 'runner do. You needed to get our attention; that was a low energy-expending way of doing so."

"Exactly," Teva cooed. "That's exactly what I was thinking." It made her think a little better of the medical staff here. She almost wanted to give the woman a biscuit like she was good dog or something.

Ghost eyed the nurse, Kristi, warily as she pushed the medication into his IV, but didn't fight it this time. If it _was_some sort of narcotic he'd know instantly, and he didn't think they were stupid enough to try a trick like that with Feral still armed beside him.

The substance didn't seem to do anything. That was good. No buzz, no rush, no tingle, no feelings of drowsiness or euphoria, nothing. He'd just have to wait a little bit for it to kick in and the pain to start fading away.

Satisfied that they weren't about to dope Brandon up, she put her weapon away with the rest of her pile o' crap she'd been brought in with.

"Alright, no further damage," the doc smiled once he finished checking on Ghost, then turned towards Feral. "Your exam, if you don't mind?"

Feral took an involuntary step back, ramming her heel into the bottom of the recliner. She steeled herself, retreating behind the bitchy, hostile mask she usually wore, but nodded. "If you must," Teva drawled, and held still as the doctor approached.

His touch was clinical, professional. He checked her pulse and breathing, and asked to look at the wound.

She hesitated, eyes darting to Ghost, suddenly critically aware that she was naked except for a pair of underwear.

The doctor's lip, she could have sworn, twitched just the slightest amount. "Put the pants on," he suggested, and waited patiently while she did so. "Now," the doctor turned slightly, guiding her with a hand on her upper arm. When her back was to Brandon, she slipped out of the robe, and allowed the doctor to peel the bandage off, examining the line of stitched flesh between her breasts.

She knew, of course, what Brandon was seeing, studying the map of scars on her back. Two round, white scars where bullets had pierced her, slash marks from the time she'd been pushed through a window, and a strange cluster of narrow, carefully made pinkish lines, raised up a little from the rest of her skin, resting above the waistband of the scrub pants. They looked almost like tally marks. She'd never asked their maker if they were.

He tried to look away like a gentleman, honestly he did, but he _was_ a guy, and the girl of his affections was standing in the same room without a top on. A quick peek became a glance became a look became a full study of her features. He bypassed the scars at first, only focusing on her rounded shoulders, the muscle definition in her arms, the slenderness of her neck, the curvature of her back, the smoothness of her skin. She was (he hated to be cliché, but he simply couldn't think of another way to describe her) a work of priceless art, the scars somehow acting as planned brush strokes that added detail to her perfect image instead of looking like faults on the canvas. They suited her, were a part of her, displayed her as the warrior she was. That, of course, didn't stop him from wanting to put matching scars on whoever had inflicted them. That included Trick; none of the other Irish fucks worked blades like that. The man would be _lucky_to be going to jail for the statue's theft, otherwise Ghost would have another vendetta to act upon once he was done with Lonnie. Maybe he'd hang onto that thought for whenever the clan got out of lockdown.

"You were fortunate," the doctor murmured, "That the blade didn't enter an inch over, otherwise whoever did this would have gotten your heart." With the detached eyes of a man used to seeing women in various states of undress, the doctor applied a fresh covering. "You may dress."

Teva tugged on the shirt over her head, grimacing a little as the motion pulled her topical stitches.

"You appear to be healing well," the doctor confessed. "Faster than we'd expected." He paused.

She waited. If he was expecting her to say something, he was going to wait a long time. Feral didn't advertise her status as an adept. She liked her privacy, and she definitely didn't want something like that going into Sarah James' medical files.

"I'll send Darlene back in with some pain medication for you," the doctor concluded with a wry grin.

As soon as the door closed, the ramrod posture she'd held herself in, fighting against the fatigue she still felt, began to ease. She eyed the recliner, then Brandon. Wordlessly, Teva scooped her blanket up off the floor, and crawled up on the bed by his uninjured side. "Shove over," she murmured fondly, and put her head down on Ghost's shoulder once he scooted a little, beginning to drift off immediately.

_Oh, the things I have to look forward to, _Brandon thought to himself, still musing over exactly how he was going to punish Trick_. _The words were thought in sarcasm, sobering him quickly as Teva appeared to be having some sort of silent stand-off with the doctor. She won, of course, and the doc was out the door quickly enough after that. Before he really knew what was happening, he found himself happily moving over at her command like a dog eager to please its master. That was okay. It was worth having her crawl in beside him to put her head on his shoulder.

His arm curled around her almost of its own accord, with his hand lightly gripping her shoulder and his thumb running up and down her skin as she slipped back to sleep. Giving her a little squeeze, he nuzzled his face against the top of her head where he placed a kiss. "You're beautiful," he whispered before following her example and allowing himself to drift off, idly wondering how long it would take before she got fed up with nurses coming in to interrupt their sleep to do a vitals check. She'd probably go back home after that, and he wouldn't blame her one bit for it.

Sleeping in clinics sucked.

* * *

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Nine

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: A slightly longer chapter than usual. I didn't want to break the flow of this scene up. So yeah, holy crap, here's teh sexorz. Have fun!

Time for my chapterly reminder about The Beta Branch: a community dedicated to improving people's writing by connecting authors with betas en masse. Check it out: thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

The days passed in a dreary, rote manner. Teva eventually did return to Ghost's apartment for more sleep, and other essentials like showering and eating. However, the majority of her time was spent at the clinic, terrorizing the staff into submission.

She and Darlene had also traded some tips on emergency field medicine, and they may have discussed up and comers in the squall-alt scene.

"Dude, Blaze of Glory is not going to make it, mark my words," Feral had drawled, pounding back soycaf while she played a hand of cards. "Before two years pass, their lead singer's going to get kicked out, then he's gonna die of an overdose."

"You're probably right," Darlene conceded, "But that could just solidify their position in music history."

"Fuck that. There's nothing historically valuable in their shit," Teva argued. "They're just following the trends."

The bickering had continued good-naturedly until Brandon cleared his throat, looking amused. "Dar, isn't your lunch break up?"

The nurse had leapt up from her chair going, "Oh my god, you're right," and dashing out the door.

Bran got released the day after. She drove them back to his place, whereupon Teva promptly went and changed into her pajamas, and bullied Brandon back into bed. Not that he had much energy to argue with. None the less, he gave it a valiant effort, parting his lips to do so. Smirking, all she said was, "Don't make me bust out the rope." Still recovering as well, Teva crawled in beside him, got comfy with the pillows, and settled in for the long healing sleep that she'd been denying herself so that she could keep an eye on Brandon.

* * *

He woke the next morning having a little deja vu moment, reminded of that first day in his apartment following their return from the motel. The sun was just starting to make its appearance around the edges of his curtain, Teva was curled up still asleep beside him, his traitorous body was requesting a trip to the bathroom, and his stomach was demanding something distinctly _not_hospital food for breakfast. One of the only perks about having stayed for those extra days was the fact that his doctor had understood any potential dietary problems caused from getting off the drugs, and had properly weaned Brandon back to normal foods in a way that wouldn't make him sick. Hell, Mattie (the previously referred-to as "crazy bitch nurse") had even given him a small piece of cake as a parting gift, apparently deciding he was an okay guy since he was actually trying to not be a drugged out loser anymore.

Teva was single-handedly responsible for that, actually - not the cake, but making all the clinic staff like him. They _loved_ her, which rubbed off onto him as being alright instead of just that suicidal druggie who one day wasn't going to make it. Or, to be fair to himself (because she had a tendency to get irritated with him when he put himself down), maybe they remembered how he was before, the guy that everybody _used_to love, and seeing that part of him starting to peek through again made them less hostile towards him. Either way, she was still responsible. He loved her for that.

_Interesting word choice._

Nature calling more urgently, he slid his arm out from underneath her and winced as the movement pulled on the sensitive nerves around his scar tissue and the areas of bone that weren't completely healed. Enough of the magic treatments had sealed the outer wounds without need of the stitches anymore, brought the halves of his broken rib back together, repaired the crack in his scapula where the first bullet had lodged itself, but had focused mostly on making certain his lung was in good enough condition to put him out of the danger zone. There was still a lot of bruising on bone and flesh, healing of torn muscle, and waiting for the disappearance of nerve damage that he had to get through, all just added on to the fact that he was still trying to recuperate from his earlier sickness. If Teva hadn't also been severely injured, thus also needing as much rest as she could get, he would've asked her to do her healing routine again. Instead, he decided that a dose of his spit meds (as he came to call them) plus a long, hot bath might do the trick. Breakfast could wait until after he was clean.

Grabbing nothing but a pair of boxers and his bathrobe, (because, really, he wasn't planning on leaving his place any time in the near future so who the fuck cared if he got dressed more than that?) he gingerly made his way to the bathroom, turned on the hot water, took care of business, and decided to go ahead and add a generous amount of his cookie wash into the tub. Grinning, he kind of wondered if they _did_ make that scent in actual bubble bath. He sort of liked it... _Jesus fuck, she's turning me into a girl._

Ah well, bubble baths weren't the _worst_ habit to pick up. He'd pretty much already sampled the bottom of the barrel in bad habits, after all.

She was becoming too accustomed to Brandon's presence.

That was Teva's first thought as the bedroom door closed with a quiet click, and her eyes automatically cracked open. Such a little thing, his leaving the room, but she was hyper-aware of the action occurring even in her sleep. It was a little creepy. Of course, some of that could simply be attributed to the fact that she was a light sleeper. Years of 'running, constantly being on edge, had trained her to be so.

Water was running in the bathroom.

Lethargically, Teva rolled out of bed, and crept to the kitchen.

Only when the cookie foam actually started to eat the edge of his tub did Brandon finally turn off the water and carefully slide inside, letting out a long sigh as the heat already began to work its magic on his sore body. Pushing some of the bubbles away so they wouldn't crawl up his nose, he relaxed his head back against the rolled up towel he had brought in with him and let himself drift around in semi-consciousness for a bit, thinking about nothing and not worrying about anything. Until he healed completely he had nothing but free time on his hands, and his only plan was to relish every second of it.

In the kitchen, Teva smoked while she made soycaf, and ate leftovers, and knew she'd have to make some calls that day. Madden was probably having a coronary, and she had to set up an exchange point for the statue with the buyer. That was going to be a nice, fat paycheck. It certainly made her feel better about nearly dying in the process.

Red was right, she was the living embodiment of Murphy's Law.

The pain that she was expecting with that thought didn't come. There was a hint of disappointment for lost what-ifs, but mostly it was resignation, like her brain shrugged and went 'oh well.' Teva wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

Then she thought of Brandon in the bathroom, who was a self-sacrificing idiot with more issues than could be counted on one hand-hell, maybe even two-and smiled unbidden. A wave of possessive tenderness rose up in her. For a long moment, Teva gave some serious thought to sliding in the tub with him, and had to bite her lip to quell the sudden flash of heat in her veins. They were both injured though, and frankly that was rather presumptive. Maybe he'd rather be alone. He was probably sick of her hovering. Jeez, she'd pretty much invaded his life these past few weeks, planted a flag in his apartment and declared 'this land is for Tevas!'

The thought of going back home though filled her with an implacable loneliness. She could hardly bear the thought. It sent a shiver of distaste down her spine. Just a little while longer, she told herself, and felt the sick tension ease.

After mowing through a fair portion of the leftover stew, Teva's eyelids began to feel heavy again. She needed to pee, but it could wait. Instead, she went back to bed, giving in to the urgent desire to pass the fuck out once more.

* * *

His eyes were shut when he heard the bathroom door open and close, and he held back a smile as quiet footsteps padded across the room, ending with a certain someone kneeling down beside the tub. He held still as a hand slipped down into the water and touched him lightly, tentatively, before the touch became a full caress.

He snapped his eyes open in horror.

The hand didn't belong to Teva. It was large and rough and much too familiar. Too weak to struggle against it, he found himself staring up at Lonnie's soft smile, who was gently tending to him after one of their "fun" sessions. That always made it seem worse for some reason, that his uncle could be so horribly violent both physically and sexually during the process of pleasuring himself, then be so very concerned and caring once it was all said and done. The healing was always followed by cleanup, always requiring Lonnie's help because the boys were just too drained to take care of it by themselves. Somehow that was almost more humiliating than the initial abuse.

Brandon was lying back in the big tub in Lonnie's master bathroom, his small head pillowed against his uncle's arm so he wouldn't accidentally drown. Lonnie was talking to him in that disgustingly soothing tone while fondling him under the red-tinted water, contaminated with blood and other bodily filth. They'd sit that way for a while, Brandon soaking while Lonnie got in his last kicks, and only when the water got cold would his uncle change it out and actually go about the process of making sure his boys were fully clean.

This time Brandon had had enough. The prior "fun" session had been another overly painful one, such a drastic opposition from the shy way his uncle was handling him now, and it was too much. Without warning, the weak little boy turned and sunk his teeth into Lonnie's shoulder.

_"You ungrateful little shit! Fine! Wash your own damn self!"_

Lonnie dropped him and stood back, letting Brandon's head sink under the water. The tub was too large and he'd been sitting in the middle of it, unable to reach the sides to pull himself back up. His uncle's method of helping? To reach in and pull the drain so the water level slowly went down, letting Brandon sputter and panic and nearly suffocate until the tub emptied enough where he didn't have to fight so much to get a breath of air. When the tub was nearly drained, leaving him curled up in a small ball on the bottom sucking in precious oxygen, the faucet turned back on and hit him with a shock of freezing cold water.

_"You're not clean yet, son. We'll let that fill a bit more, then you're going to sit up and behave for me so I can get you decent."_

Lonnie let him lay there until he had to struggle again to keep his head above the frigid water. It was so cold, and he was so weak. He was going to drown...

Brandon shot awake with a gasp as he jerked up out of water back in his own apartment, having fallen asleep in the bubbles and slipped down beneath the surface. The water had gone cold, and he scrambled out without bothering to rinse the suds off his skin or from his hair. He'd be a mess letting that shit dry on him like that, but for the moment he didn't care, his only focus on wrapping the towel around himself while he sat on the floor recovering from the memory.

He didn't know how long he sat there for, but he was still shivering when he forced himself to his feet and got himself decent in the bathrobe. Christ, even with the thick fleece fabric covering him he couldn't seem to get warm, and his chest and shoulder ached more now than when he'd first woken up. Taking his pain meds, he skipped the whole breakfast idea entirely and wandered back into the bedroom where Teva was still sleeping. She was lying on her left side - perfect. Desperately seeking warmth and comfort, he crawled in behind her and pressed himself against her back, scooting down so he was as far under the covers as possible and he could hide his face between her shoulder blades.

Feral jolted awake as the bed moved, and stayed very still as somebody slid under the covers with her. It took her a second to remember where she was, who the occupant behind her must be. Ghost's breath penetrated the thin cotton weave of her shirt between her shoulder blades, and his arm looped over her waist.

"Sorry," he murmured, knowing his jostling the bed and his body shaking against hers most definitely would've woken her up. He was being so selfish right now, but for that one moment he was going to allow it. Fuck taking it easy and doing nothing while he recuperated. Once he gave himself a little time to recover from this latest episode he was going to start putting his "Take Lonnie Down" plans into action. He wanted to be ready, because the second he was fully healthy and on his feet again he was putting an end to his nightmares.

Sorry? What did he have to be sorry about? She was becoming addicted to cuddling because of him, and so a little smile tilted her lips up as he settled in. Her muscles relaxed again. That was when it hit her that Brandon was shaking hard.

Her hand found his underneath the covers, squeezing in a gesture meant to provide comfort. "What's the matter?" she murmured, tongue still thick with sleep. Absently, Teva began to rub Ghost's forearm, sliding underneath the long sleeve of the robe to do so. "You're cold," she noted. "Why are you so cold?"

She wanted to turn around and look at him, and maybe that had shown in some minuscule movement or tension in her muscles; Ghost's grip tightened around her, keeping her in place. "Bran?" Teva said his name softly, laden with concern, and the silent demand that he answer her, _dammit_. An explosive huff of air fanned out over her back. The hand stroking his arm stilled, sensing intuitively that Brandon needed to be held as much as he needed to hold right now. She curved her arm over his, pressing his palm into her belly in a wordless declaration. _You can hold me as hard as you need to._

His arm tightened with hers and it was all he could do to keep himself in check from crushing her in his grip, especially with her injury stopping right above the point where he was squeezing. He was pressed into her back so hard that it was like he was trying to meld with her, like he could literally absorb her heat into his skin if he could just get close enough. Part of his shaking wasn't just from the cold, though. The memory of Lonnie's hand on him, stroking him in such a loving manner, it made him feel dirty. Even still covered in the drying soap suds, smelling like a goddamn gingerbread man, he felt disgustingly filthy.

"Fell asleep in the tub," he finally got up the nerve to explain softly against her back, feeling the involuntary tensing of her muscles as his breath hit her skin. "Went back to...Lonnie was..." He shook his head and skipped forward, finishing simply with, "The water was cold."

He didn't know how much she'd remember from what she'd read of his journals. She'd gone through so much of his life in such a short amount of time, it'd probably be impossible to recall one little incident described amongst so many atrocities. That one wasn't even close to the worst of them, but it'd been documented in his childlike handwriting, burned into the page and his memory forever. It'd been the only time he'd fought Lonnie during their special tub time, a moment that terrified him and brought on a small spark of pride at the same time. He tried to hang onto that pride now, tried to will away all the hundreds of other times that he'd sat there while Lonnie touched him, making him feel dirty even while he was getting cleaned up.

It wasn't working. He needed to feel something else, something that felt more right, more natural, cleansing him in a different way and warming him up at the same time.

Pulling his face back just a little, he blew out a long, steady breath, drawing a line with it across her back just beneath her shoulder blades. It was a sensitive area, and she tensed up again expectedly, her hand gripping his a little bit tighter against her stomach. He did it again, then touched her back with his lips, softly laying kisses along the line that he'd just drawn with his breath. Her body certainly reacted to it pleasurably enough, but he paused, keeping his hands from slipping beneath her shirt to touch her bare skin. This had to be completely her call; anything else would bring him back to that loathsome moment in Horizon, making him feel even more disgusting than he already did.

Still breathing softly against her back, he waited patiently for her decision.

Feral had been caught up in thinking of excruciating ways to punish Brandon's abuser when his breath fanned out on her back, caressing her in a very deliberate manner. It soaked through the cotton, and warmed her skin. Tensing underneath the pleasant sensation was completely involuntary. She had held herself apart from others for such an endless span of time, at least it felt endless, that she just wasn't used to those soft, intimate touches anymore.

His lips on her back pressing into the still-warm skin made the area feel tingly. A shudder zipped down her spine as nerve endings she'd thought dead suddenly woke up as though from a coma. Brandon's fingers flexed against her stomach. She was pretty sure he didn't even realize he'd done it, but the motion revealed a squashed impulse to her. It came as a small shock to her when it occurred to her that she wanted him to follow through with it. She _craved_it. Long denied, her skin felt too tight and hot. She was a dried up sponge on a beach, and every part of her demanded that she soak his touches up like water.

Brandon paused, waiting, Teva realized, for her consent. Shit, of course he'd ask. He couldn't feel that deep need that suddenly gripped her, couldn't hear in her silence and stillness the desperate pleading that she wrestled back down.

The talking part had never been her strong suit, but she was really good at the action side of things. After all, she'd had a very experienced teacher. She couldn't articulate what she wanted. The words stuck in her throat, and good god, if they'd actually been permitted a voice she knew it wouldn't come out right. She'd sound dirty and desperate, and barely controlled. Still, he needed a sign, and she just _needed_.

Was she really doing this? Some part of her mind asked her. Yes, she was, Teva decided, lacing her fingers between Bran's and guiding his hand underneath the hem of her t-shirt. It had been such a long time since she'd allowed anyone to touch her like that, and it brought her breath in a shaky sigh, a little stunned by her own reaction to just the feel of his palm on her stomach. Such a small thing, but she was starved for touch.

Quelling the urge to turn, and embrace him with her whole body, she waited to see what he would do. With the memory of his uncle so close to the surface, she didn't want to scare him off, to get too aggressive with him and possibly make it worse. Lying there passively was an exercise in a kind of restraint she hadn't used since she was a teenager, and playing bedroom games with a man twice her age. It felt good in a way, that surrender, knowing that she was giving Brandon control over her, even if he didn't know it, but also realizing that she could take it back at any time she wished. There was something...exciting about that. Teva absentmindedly drew her tongue over her lower lip, and sucked it between her teeth, biting a little as the anticipation vibrated underneath her skin.

He sighed in relief as she guided his hand, granting him her permission to continue, but as much as he wanted her, no part of him was willing to just throw himself at her. This needed to be gentle, slow, pleasurable, working its way up to however far she was willing to go with it. This could not, in any way, be reminiscent of Horizon. This was about him, yes, his need to feel whole, worthy of her touch; but to accomplish that he also had make it completely about _her._He was leading, but also following, in tune with the signals her body was giving out so he'd know when to linger and when to move on. In that way, it was him making all the moves, but it was her that was in control.

Adjusting his position so his left arm wasn't pinned beneath his own body, he slid his right hand down her stomach just a fraction, enough that his little finger found its way beneath the hem of her shorts, and pressed his palm against the flesh there. His left hand pulled her shirt up her back a ways, revealing her beautiful scars, and he worked his way up her body planting a feather-light kiss on each one. When he'd gotten to the top he moved down again and blew another soft line of air all the way up her spine, smiling as her breath came out in one long shudder and she involuntarily writhed with the sensation.

Keeping his left hand under her shirt where he delicately traced his fingertips along a figure eight pattern across the middle of her back, he moved up and blew more air along her neck until he reached her ear. Brushing back down along the outer edge of it with his lips, and lingering a little longer at her earlobe, he took a second to whisper ever so softly, "Is this okay?"

She'd lain there quietly as he kissed her scars, knowing their placement too intimately to not recognize the locations on her back that Bran chose to lay his lips. Some of the tissue was sensitive, like the tally marks above her hip, and the deepest, widest scar from the window cuts. Teva had breathed through the warm undertow that tugged at her, and closed her eyes against the impossible sweetness of the moment.

Unlike some women, she wasn't vain enough to be embarrassed by her scars. They were marks of character, Teva thought, livening up the pale, smooth expanse of her skin, giving it an interesting topography. When Brandon asked if his caresses were okay, her brain immediately launched into inner babble zone. _Yes. God, yes, it is totally okay. More than okay. _If he didn't keep going she was liable to lose her mind, suspended in this state of unfulfilled yearning.

Do not blurt that out, she ordered herself.

Instead, Teva nodded, whispered quickly, "Yes." Her voice was throaty and a little lower than normal. If she'd been a cat, she'd have purred under the attention.

Brandon's thumb circled the round little scar on her front. The exit wound was one of the two bullet scars forever emblazoned on her back. The other shot had come through her back, and bounced around inside her rib cage until it speared into her lung. She'd almost died from that one before anyone could treat her. Fortunately, Red had been nearby, but he'd only been able to heal the internal damage. The initial gunshot wound had been bandaged up.

She jumped out of her memories when a pair of lips found her neck. The slightest suction as he pulled away ripped a tiny, breathless moan out of her. Her neck was incredibly sensitive, an erogenous zone if there ever was one, and just that tiny tease of a kiss made her tense. Her hips shifted like she was going to turn around, and then she stopped herself, ordered her misbehaving, impatient, control-freak side to cut it out.

_Bingo,_ he thought at her reaction to his attentions to her neck. Aside from the moan he'd definitely felt her slight turn towards him, and he knew the action for what it was. She had stopped herself, though, and that was good. He wasn't ready to go there yet, but he understood her request for more.

A series of quick, hot daydreams flashed through her mind. Whipping off her shirt. Straddling his hips. Kissing so much their lips were bruised, and their bodies seemed fused together by the contact alone. _Turtle speed_, Teva reminded herself. _I thought we were doing turtle speed this time._

In a maneuver he had practiced before (yet this time it felt so different, more meaningful), he continued to give her affection via touch in some form or another even as he worked his way out of the cumbersome robe. When he needed to free his right hand, he kept the left tickling across the sensitive areas of her back; when it was the left's turn, he replaced his right on her lower abdomen and nipped playfully at her ear again. He tossed the robe somewhere to the floor without looking while simultaneously getting himself back into his previous position - both hands on her skin beneath her shirt, his lips resting against her neck pulling into a smile.

Careful not to pull her shirt up enough to expose her bare chest, he slowly moved his left arm under her body and back up the other side so he could reach her breast, wincing just slightly as having to pick up her weight for that half second pulled on his wounds. It reminded him to be mindful of hers, as well, and caressed her very gently while he continued to lay little nibbling kisses around the back and sides of her neck, searching for the spots that she reacted to the most.

As his hand curved over her breast and his mouth continued exploring her neck, Teva felt more of those urgent, wanton noises building up in her. Her fingers bunched the sheet in her hand when a fingertip lightly circled her peaked nipple, and ripped an involuntary sound out of her throat.

It was so hard to stay still after that. Laying there accepting what he was offering without giving in return, it just went against her impetuous nature. She wanted to feel his skin underneath her hands. Tightening her grip in the sheets, she swallowed convulsively, wetting her dry throat.

The slightest scraping of teeth over her pulse made her quake, and another of those needy sounds popped out of her, this one a high and breathless "oh!" A pinch to the tight bud underneath his hand sent sensations pooling down between her legs. She bit her lip again as a tiny "mm" squeaked its way past her defenses. He drew back from the center of her breast, painting incomprehensible pictures with the light trail of his fingertips over the upper curve, then on the sensitive underside that tended to be overlooked.

Brandon hesitated for a moment as he accidentally brushed the neat line of stitches between her breasts. She'd taken the bandage off yesterday because it was healing so well. Eventually, the stitches would dissolve, and all that would be left was another little line on her body. Carefully avoiding her still recovering flesh, he brushed her upper ribs. She'd been wildly ticklish as a girl, but in this particular context the caress definitely didn't make her feel like laughing. Her reaction was prominent, a shiver, and the slightest canting of her hips, not quite a thrust, but calling it anything else was just splitting hairs. She panted, and felt him smile against her neck again. He kissed her just below her earlobe like a reward, open mouthed, licking and nibbling over the flesh until she had released another tremulous moan for his auditory delights.

He focused on kissing her neck for a little bit longer, his own breathing picking up in time with her excitement, and kept it up as he lowered his right hand down further, keeping it between the fabric of her shorts and the thin material of her undergarments. He paused just before he could reach that coveted spot.

She reacted viscerally to the feel of his other hand sliding further down underneath her shorts, arching back against him in blatant invitation. The bass throb between her thighs cried out in frustration. "Yes?" Bran asked, his breath fanning out over the wetness on her neck, cooling it, and making her shudder once more.

At this point he was pretty certain what her answer would be, but still, he had to have her consent. On everything, he had to be sure.

He nipped her earlobe as she sighed, "Yes. _Please_." His touch curved over her mound-she was abruptly reminded about a book she'd read that kept calling it 'the Venus mound'-and her body leapt wantonly into his caress.

Again, she fought for self-control. Her nails were going to punch holes in his sheets if she wasn't careful. The beat of desire intensified against his hand as just a single finger traced the divide between her lower lips over her underwear. She knew he could probably _feel_ just how into this she was. God, how _embarrassing_. He did something subtle that had her eyes slamming shut, a throaty, intense exclamation of "oh, god" tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Dammit, she was going to spontaneously combust from arousal before they ever even got past the preliminaries!

His hands worked in a base rhythm that mirrored each other, his mouth playing the overlapping melodic harmony across her skin. He kept the time at a steady, even pace, letting her desire slowly build up at his touch. His lower hand turned slightly, his fingertips offering pleasure at a slightly different angle that caused her to compulsively jerk at the new sensation.

Her upper body being thrown back against his chest cut off his breath as his injuries once again made themselves known. It took a second before he realized that he had frozen, and so had she in response.

"It's okay," he laughed lightly, trying to put her at ease again. Changing tactics, he ceased what he was doing with his mouth and upper hand so that he could pull her all the way back against him, holding her against his chest so that when she moved there'd be no risk of another impact.

She felt really bad about aggravating his injury, and it almost made her call it quits in that long moment where they were both silent and still. Teva opened her mouth to apologize, and say as much when Brandon cut her off with his reassurance, adjusting his grip so that they were pressed together pretty much all the way down the length of their bodies.

The change in position meant he had nothing left to focus on except for what his right hand was doing, which he raised back up so he could slip it down beneath her panties this time. Again, he waited a beat for her approval.

His hand sliding over her, underneath the thin fabric of her panties (which ironically she'd just been cursing herself for having put on in the first place-fuckers were _in the way_) took whatever thoughts of resistance that had been forming, and ground them into dust. She was no longer worried, just horny, and if Brandon thought he could keep going then, by god, the least she could do was man up and take it. (This last was thought in an incredibly sardonic tone.) The tense pause was too much for her. Need cracked its whip, and she bit out, "Jesus, yes, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" Ah, yes, there was the sassy, domineering bed partner she was used to being. It was also, incidentally, how she drove: impatiently, and yelling at the other cars. His abs hitched against her back with suppressed laughter, but it accomplished one very important thing. His fingers slipped into the delta between her legs.

However, while that was enjoyable (and it was, it really, really was), she kind of wanted...more. (More? Who was she kidding? She wanted everything; she wanted it all right now, like a fat kid in the candy aisle not sure what he wanted to try first.) Maybe he sensed her wild desire, because the next thing she knew, he was slipping inside of her, and she was stretching to accommodate the invasion, a delicious sting and pull of muscles long neglected. She groaned as he sought for and located with unerring swiftness the spot inside of her that set her to gasping almost immediately. Oh, damn, that was _amazing_, she thought between bursts of intense feeling.

She arched, and he allowed his whole body to move in tandem with hers as she gave in to his fingers sliding across and finally inside her. His own arousal built as she writhed against him, bringing his breaths out hot and heavy against her ear as his free hand twisted lightly in her shirt. He didn't act any further than that on his own impulses though, not yet, not unless she wanted him to. Right now he was behind her, safe, working completely for her at her beck and call, gaining nothing from it but the simple pleasure of bringing her satisfaction. It was as far from Horizon as it could ever get, and as her panting breaths came out higher and faster, and she called his name in pure sexual ecstasy, he felt that part of him that was still hanging onto the notion that he was hiding some sort of demon inside him finally let go.

She moved just right, and the feel of his hard length pressing up against her turned her on even more, if that was possible. He circled the bundle of nerves at the apex of her opening almost roughly with his thumb, and his name was jerked out of her in surprise-ecstasy-excitement. It was a solitary word that shamelessly begged for more. Finish it, Teva yelled somewhere in her own head. God, just finish it, please.

_This_was him, in complete control of himself while the girl he liked let herself go in his arms, not the guy infected by a bioweapon in the file room of a corrupted corporation. The thought very nearly brought tears of relief to his eyes, and his pressed a kiss to her cheek, never breaking rhythm with his fingers. "Thank you," he whispered, smiling a little because that probably confused the hell out her - him giving her everything at the moment and thanking her in return for it - but he said it again anyway because he needed her to hear it. It came out the second time even softer and more heartfelt than before. "Thank you, Teva."

What? Thank _her_? What the fuck? She laughed. "Trust me, pleasure's all mine." That, of course, set her to chuckling even harder.

Brandon twisted his fingers within her, and did something just right to distract her from her humor (he was going to have to get used to that if they were to continue this...liaison, because she laughed a lot in bed). Suddenly she was back in the zone with her eyes closed, feeling like every movement within her was feeding some ravenous beast, like a black hole existed somewhere inside of her, sucking up all the matter in space. Teva was so close she could barely breathe; she was striving so hard for that shimmering, ecstatic end. She just needed _something_, a little more to overload her senses.

She unclenched her left hand where it was strangling the life out of the bed sheet, and tugged up her t-shirt enough to slither beneath the fabric. Brandon had to adjust his grip slightly, transferring from the top of her shirt to the skin underneath, and Teva let her forearm rest over his as she rubbed and pinched herself, countering the near-violence of her actions with feather-light caresses until her body seized. She came with a gasp, and her lungs froze as she shuddered her way through the climax, arching back into Brandon until she felt him again, hard and ready at her backside.

Holy _fuck_. She settled back on the mattress as the moment passed, and her oxygen-deprived lungs hurried to catch her breath.

Her first word was, of course, a questioning, "More?"

She could have slapped herself for being such an insatiable sybarite.

"More?" he laughed with a broad smile, still calming his own breathing as his excitement had intensified with her climax. His brain shot to thoughts of exactly what kind of "more" she'd want, then did a quick assessment of what he maybe could and couldn't handle. His meds _had_finally kicked in, so as long as he didn't do anything overly strenuous he'd probably be perfectly okay...

He snorted at that. _Overly strenuous_was probably exactly what she had in mind.

So back to the drawing board on things to consider: lying flat on his back just to sleep was generally okay, but for what he wanted? The added strain on that back rib and his shoulder blade might prove to be a little too much. The other way around? He only had one good arm to prop himself up with. If he slipped and dropped the other one down, that instant weight would call for a halt on any further activities for the time being. Both of them sitting up would probably be the most logical way, with him nowhere near the headboard so he wouldn't risk slamming back into it. That seemed feasible.

A chuckle escaped him at the notion of having to logically think these things through. It was so odd having to pre-plan something like this, lay down a road map of possible positions, but he didn't want to risk having to stop right in the middle of anything. Suddenly, mutilating his lung for her seemed much less brave and noble, and more like the _worst_best dumb idea he'd ever had.

"Okay," he finally answered her, giving her a little squeeze and a kiss on the side of her head before letting her go so he could use his good arm to boost himself up against the headboard. He'd start there and turn them both away from the board once things got a little heavier so they wouldn't hit it...and that thought made him laugh again.

Teva was holding her breath, and trying not to make it seem like she was as she waited for some kind of response from Brandon. At his agreement, she eased back into a normal breathing pattern, and sat up as he moved away, wondering where the fuck he was going. Raising a curious brow, she silently requested to be let in on the joke as he laughed.

"Sorry," he started to explain with a smile so she wouldn't start thinking he was laughing at _her_ or anything. "Just planning out the, uh, 'method of attack' here so we don't hurt ourselves. It's funny to me for some reason."

She laughed a little as well, and thought to herself 'I wonder if there's a book out there: Tactical Sex for Injured 'Runners. If not, somebody should get on that.'

He laughed again and shook his head. "Too bad you can't work your chi thing while we're...otherwise engaged, right?"

The comment was meant to be a joke, but a flash of a thought made him wonder if that was a possibility. Might be a pretty interesting sensation if she could... He wasn't going to ask that.

What he didn't know was that she could, actually, use her skill like that. It might divide her focus a little, but it was a possibility. Teva had done it once or twice before.

He smiled at her and pulled her closer to him again. "Come here," he ordered gently, and gave her a soft starting kiss, much like the one he'd given to her back on the street before putting a gun to his chest. Then he followed it with a second, harder kiss, putting everything he felt for her into it - his thanks for her being there, for saving him, protecting him, bringing him back to humanity, for wanting to understand, for setting him free. The third kiss, going deeper still, was for everything he wished for _her_ - _I want to take away your pain, erase the things that have and might hurt you, keep you safe, make you smile, hear your laughter, listen to you sing, and be there for you if you need to cry; you don't ever have to feel lonely again._

She was going to tell him about the chi thing when a hand closed over her arm, and gently tugged her toward him. Then there was kissing, and that was...good, yeah, that was good, and completely distracting. What was it she'd wanted to tell him?

Making out was pretty much the best thing ever. Honestly, Teva would have been satisfied with just a couple hours of that. It was probably the thing she'd missed the most through the years of abstinence, and it seemed kind of silly when compared to the laundry list of other intimate tasks she'd eschewed. But _god_, she loved kissing. And Brandon was good at it, which was a plus. It only took minimal corrections to sync up their styles into the perfect blend of tongue, teeth, and lips. He paid attention to her cues. Usually it took forever to teach a man to kiss the way she wanted him to. She made a small sound of enjoyment, quickly swallowed down by Bran and gifted back in the form of his own excited, involuntary grunt.

Somewhere after that in the continued series of passionate kisses he managed to slide her shirt off over her head, both of them working to achieve that feat in a subconscious display of perfect, harmonious, fluid teamwork, and he leaned forward to move his lips down to the side of her neck again while a hand came up to cup her breast.

Her shirt had finally been discarded! Thank god; there should always be naked time. Really, she wasn't that big a fan of clothes in general. At her own apartment, she had a tendency to walk around in as little as possible, which was nice because she didn't have a roommate anymore. It used to be kind of awkward explaining to Maria exactly why she was eating cereal in her underwear on the breakfast counter. Clothes served a purpose, she thought, to protect from the elements and as armor, but in her own home that was no law that said she had to get dressed in the morning before getting a cup of soycaf from the kitchen.

The feel of his bare skin against hers was wholly absorbing, but Brandon was restless, moving to her neck to that spot that immediately made her feel all weak and melty. She dug her nails into his back, which he seemed to like if the hum reverberating against her skin was any indication. She responded in kind by digging her nails in even further, and thrusting her hips up against him, feeling him against her so close to where her body ached to be invaded, separated only by a few thin layers of cloth.

As her hips snapped against his, Brandon grunted, the sound a low, primal expression of lust_. God,_was it tempting to just skip right on ahead past everything else; but he made himself behave...somewhat.

As he began to move a little more aggressively, he had the conscious thought to turn them away from the board and acted on it quickly before logic was lost to the insane whirlwind that was human lust and longing. This time he didn't think "calm control" was going to be the driving factor, and it seemed like both of them were perfectly okay with that.

She was wrapped up in a haze of sensual pleasures, totally surrendering herself to the feelings within her, enraptured with the surprising softness of his skin under hers, and the minuscule muscular twitches when she touched something he liked. Her fingertips slid under the waistband of his boxers, barely touching the upper curve of his ass, and her thumbs circled the dimples at the base of his spine while she caught his lips with her own again. A little shudder passed from him to her, and she wasn't sure if it was a good one or a bad one.

Drawing back to ask, she was startled when a hand covered her retreating caress, and in a husky voice, Bran told her, "It's fine." She raised an eyebrow quizzically. With a wry grin, he reassured her, "Really."

"Okay," she conceded, and kept her right hand where it was, sliding the other up his spine to tangle in the back of his hair.

Getting lost in the proverbial throes of passion was really more of a sense of lost time, and then _choosing_to either let go of conscious thought or let it guide you. There was a balance there of reacting to logic, feelings, and emotions; and simply letting your most basic animalistic instincts take you to the next level.

Brandon knew this balance well, had spent years doing his best to perfect it with countless different partners so that he could always make it worthwhile for his bedmate. That way it was always good for them, never making them feel awkward or uncomfortable if he could at all help it because he knew what it was like to be on the extreme other end of that line. He held a strong desire to keep others as far away from that as possible so he'd worked very diligently at reading the body's cues, giving as much as he could in wholehearted generosity, and graciously receiving what was given back to him if he was deemed worthy.

Now he almost wondered if all that practice hadn't been for this very moment with this very woman, and he almost didn't _feel _worthy of her touch.

Which was why he'd reacted the way he did when her hands went low on his backside. Lonnie's hands had been everywhere on Brandon; there was nowhere she could touch on him that wasn't in some way tainted, but down there... The magic had been pushed into them down there, focusing first on repairing what to Lonnie was the most important part of their bodies even if they had injuries elsewhere that were far more fatal if left alone too long.

But that didn't matter now. Brandon had started this because he _needed_ her touch, longed for her hands to be on him, erasing all the places where his uncle had left his mark. What better place for her hands to be then, than down there? So he gave her his consent with a smile, let her leave her own mark, cleansing him of all the filth.

Firmly, Teva directed him closer to press their swollen lips together again. Shit, her mouth was going to be so bruised after this. That thought passed with a sense of satisfaction licking at its heels.

An indeterminate amount of time passed where all that existed was the warmth of their mouths, tongues sliding against one another, and the subconscious demand of her hips arching into his. Brandon nipped her bottom lip, and drew back panting. His hands clutched her around the back hard, stilling her. "You're killing me," he chuckled, voice an octave or two lower than normal.

Teva threw her head back, laughing loudly, the sound also a little further down on the alto scale than usual. "Sweetheart, I haven't even gotten started yet," she confessed with a sassy smirk.

He started laughing again.

Despite the fact that he had thought associating the actual word "fun" with sex would be forever ruined with him because that's how Lonnie termed the abuse, he _was_having fun with her.

She let him have his chortles, moving her hand from his hair to his neck, drawing her thumb in a small figure eight over and over as she lowered her mouth to his collarbone, nibbling lightly across the thin skin, then licking from the hollow between them up to his Adam's apple. Teva closed her lips over the protrusion, sucking while he abruptly stopped laughing and swallowed hard. Her hands slid across the expanse of his skin to meet in the middle of his back, and she felt the pull of his chi, her palms tingling with the will to guide it. Running her tongue around his Adam's apple, she then continued her previous path, gliding up to his chin, nipping, and skipping away from his lips when he tried to snare her. Kissing the corner of his mouth, and along his jaw, she drew her hands up his back, and then back down. She licked the spot right under his ear, and sucked his earlobe into her mouth very delicately before releasing it. Her hands continued their restless pursuit as she exhaled, letting her breath blow over his skin in a barely-there caress.

_Oh my god! _The realization slammed into him that she _could_move his chi around while they-

Without losing contact or concentration, Teva began to pull her hands around his waist, ceasing when her thumbs met his naval. Sweetly, she kissed the curve of his ear, and whispered with humor, "I can do magic hands while otherwise engaged." Gliding her hands up his chest, she continued the manipulation of his lifeforce.

_Jesus fucking Christ!_

He wondered briefly if she was even aware that playing with his chi during erotic fun times did a little more than just take the pain away.

_Fuck yes, she does, little minx._

Most people didn't bother to reason it out, but if chi was everywhere in the body, that meant that her hands could go everywhere _on_ the body to direct it. The only reason she usually didn't was because the back was neutral territory for most people. It made them think of massages, and that was professional, and socially acceptable. Going from back to arms to other parts, well, that was undeniably more personal, and since she had to be in constant contact it became a very sensual thing.

Her fingertips were following the lines of the muscles beneath the skin, though occasionally they deviated, gliding over little pathways visible only to her. Teva circled one of his flat nipples with her fingernail, and felt him react. Yes, she thought, feeling greedy for his noises, and little writhing motions, and his chest heaving underneath her palms with excitement. She kissed his neck, and pushed his chi out with a great fanning motion across his chest to reach all his extremities at nearly the same moment.

Was that a grunt or a growl? What had he been saying earlier about having control over conscious thought? Because right now she sure as fuck was turning him into a big fat liar on that one. Brandon made some sort of guttural sound that made her smile, and his head dipped like he could hardly hold it up anymore. His teeth found her skin, and closed on her shoulder.

'Hello baser animalistic instincts, I'm Brandon, and I'll be your little bitch for the rest of this session,' he thought sardonically.

She sighed and tipped her head to one side in a wordless offer. Those kinds of pain just felt good right now, not only because she was resistant to it, but apparently because somewhere in her brain there was a crossed wire or two. So if he wanted to leave bruises with tiny depressions of his teeth on her, that was fine, she didn't mind one bit. If scars were badges of honor, then love bites were like star stickers on a calendar for a job well done.

Sliding her palms back down his chest, she let her nails gently scratch him. He groaned while she coaxed his chi lower, and nibbled up her neck, the resulting sensations of which almost made her lose her focus. He chuckled and flinched when she circled his belly button, then slipped her pinky just a little ways inside it, grateful for having relatively short nails. She crooked it upward, and Brandon shook hard, his hands tightening even more. It was an intense sensation, she knew. The little nerve endings there were sensitive, and sent a pulse of pleasure directly to the groin, and kind of a squirmy feeling inside the stomach, like looking over the edge of a really tall building seconds before rappelling down the side would.

Smiling, Teva moved on, and left a trail of kisses across his shoulder, and neck, and down on his chest. She tentatively kissed his nipple, and when that seemed favorable, swirled her tongue around it, nipping gently before she backed off.

Brandon gave her a dark, unreadable look, and for a moment it looked as though there was a banked fire in his gaze. However, that was just fanciful thought, caught up in the moment, playing tricks on her mind. Still, as he moved his hands very slowly up her back, fingers tracing the vertebra of her spine, pressing her inexorably closer until her breasts flattened against his chest, she definitely felt something. Her tightened nipples tingled at the contact, and the juncture between her thighs was practically weeping. It didn't seem to matter that she'd just had an orgasm. She wanted more, and then further still. His eyes watched intently as she dragged her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, gaze locked with his the entire time. He leaned in, and licked the plump petal, slowly, deliberately, then slanted his mouth over hers for another of those lip locks that made her feel like she was drowning in sensation.

Her fingertips slid lower, palms rotating slightly so she could slip her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts without losing contact. She traced the vee of his hipbones teasingly, and hesitantly pushed his underwear down just a fraction of an inch. Stilling herself, she waited to see what his response would be to her unasked question.

"What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" he asked teasingly in a low, husky voice, one side of his mouth pulling up in a crooked grin.

She shook her head at him as she smiled back and brought one of her hands up to press against his chest, slowly pushing him down backwards. The way he had turned them before meant it would put them at an angle across the mattress if they were to lie down, but he resisted a little bit. Lying down wasn't supposed to be the plan.

"Teva, my rib," he started to protest, but she cut him off as her other hand reached over to pull at the pillows.

"Shhhh, I know," she said softly, placing one of the pillows under his back and two of them under his head before she pressed him the rest of the way down. Not like he was really putting up much of a fight, especially when her hands moved back down to tug at his boxers. In fact, his hips lifting up to make it easier for her to pull them off pretty much ensured there would be no more fighting whatsoever.

"Don't need these," she sing-songed playfully as she held up his underwear and flicked them away.

_God_, she was cute. The thought that she might punch him if he told her that just made him laugh.

He stopped when she put her palms on his chest, not putting any of her weight on him, just pulling at his chi again, gathering it for-

Okay, this just wasn't fair.

One of her hands circled around the right side of his chest, pleasuring him while at the same time reading for any telltale signs of pain. The other? It was creeping down the straight line that ran between his abdominal muscles, her middle finger dragging some inner spark along with it down into his groin and right up to the end of his shaft where she drew a little circle at the tip.

"Brandon, breathe," she reminded him with a chuckle.

He didn't know he had stopped.

Brandon turned a little sheepish grin on her after her command to breathe. He shrugged as though to say 'well, what were you expecting, doing that to a guy?'

She grinned wickedly, and flicked her tongue out to trace the same path her finger had taken while she circled his length just under the flared head with her thumb and middle finger, sliding down until her fingers met his abdomen. His gasp was rewarding, as was the way he abruptly balled the sheets up in his hand. _Tables, consider yourselves turned._Teva smothered a chuckle around the plump tip pursed between her lips. Having a man quite literally by the balls, or in this case, the shaft, was a pretty empowering thing. At least she thought so. There was something incredibly arousing about the helpless, wild look on Brandon's face as she slowly took him down her throat, using the tip of her tongue to paint a line down the shaft until she'd reached her stopping point. It had been too long since she'd attempted the art of deep-throating, so she decided to give it a pass for the time being. She needed to, uh, get used to the basics again before she tried getting all fancy.

Swallowing, she watched Brandon quiver with the pleasure of it, and squeeze out her name. She liked that he didn't reach for her head. Teva hated it when guys did that, tried to guide her, like they had any fucking idea how much she could take before she choked. That was when she busted out the teeth on those motherfuckers. A little nip usually put them back in line pretty quick.

Her curious fingers went a little lower, keeping an eye on Brandon for signs that she should stop. It was freaking her out a little, the niggling fear that she was doing something wrong, that at some point Bran was going to start flipping out. She knew, of course, that Brandon'd had sex before, lots of times before if some of his journal entries were anything to go by, but this was coming on the heels of so much personal strife, going after his uncle and failing, falling back into drug use... She just didn't want to fuck him up any more than he already was, but at the same time, she had to know where his limits were, she couldn't be overly cautious. He wasn't stupid; he'd know it if she was handling him with kid gloves.

She rubbed her thumb against his perineum, watching the shock of pleasure flash across his face like lightning. He hoarsely cried, "Teva," and touched her chin. She released him from her mouth, gently kissed the inside of his thigh, and nuzzled from the top of his leg onto his stomach, using the short strands of her hair to tickle him. Pressing her lips just below the curve of his ribs, she asked bluntly, "If I do something you don't like, you'll say so, right?"

"Yes," he agreed, nodding, and letting the tension drain out of him bit by bit.

She raised an eloquent brow that somehow managed to convey thick skepticism.

"I will, I promise," Brandon added with a little laugh. "You're just...very good at what you do."

Teva let out a low, throaty chuckle. "I know," she agreed without a hint of modesty. In fact, she sat up, pretending to buff her nails, and drawled, "I got mad skills."

'Mad skills' was an understatement. Christ, he almost hadn't stopped her in time! And there wasn't a damn thing about it that was making him feel uncomfortable...well, not in a bad way, anyway. She was assertive but gentle at the same time, skilled, working for him instead of for herself.

Lonnie was...violent and selfish, cutting them and breaking them before he pounded into them because he got off on the blood and the pain and the tears. The only time he was loving was afterward during healing and in the tub, something that Brandon never understood. Maybe somewhere deep inside the man there _was_some sense of shame or guilt in what he'd done, what he would continue to do, but it wasn't enough to make him stop.

There was nothing at all shameful about what Teva was doing, nothing she really _could_ do, he thought, short of forcing him to turn over and insisting on playing with weird, kinky sex toys that she didn't have. The fact that she was concerned for him enough to even ask, no, _demand_that he tell her... She was too good for him, almost more than he could bear, but he couldn't stand the thought of being without her either.

He leaned up abruptly on his good arm and reached his other hand out to snap the hem of her shorts against her hip. "Why are these still on?" he asked, looking genuinely offended. "I was the one who was cold, remember?"

She looked down at his length and back up, with the word _really?_ written all over her face. "Baby, from where I'm sitting, you do _not_look cold."

He retaliated with his best begging puppy eyes. Yeah, those shorts were coming off.

"Oh, man," she sighed exaggeratedly, placing a hand over her heart, "The puppy dog eyes. How can I resist?" Teva stuck her tongue out at him, and was almost overbalanced when Brandon tugged her closer, kissing her around her giggles (at his expense), and slipped his hands underneath the waistband of her shorts, sliding his hands beneath her underwear, gliding over her butt.

"You're a pain in the ass," he murmured fondly, giving her derriere a little squeeze as the last word left him.

She laughed harder, and had to duck her head, muffling her mirth in his shoulder. However, her hands moved, meeting his, and together they pushed the dark cotton fabric over the subtle curve of her hips, until they pooled behind her knees. "Hm," she murmured thoughtfully as they snagged. "Maybe not the most well thought-out of maneuvers."

They both started chuckling about that, and it was an awkward affair but eventually they got the shorts (and the underwear-that-should-never-have-existed) off of her legs. Of course, by that time she was _really_laughing, red-in-the-face, clutching-her-stomach, tears-coming-from-her-eyes laughing. Between gasping for air, Teva managed to murmur, "Dude, that was an excellent example of teamwork. High five!" Brandon looked very bemused by her behavior, so she picked up his arm by the wrist, and high-fived him herself. Still grinning, she turned his hand over, kissed his palm, and said, "You'll get used to it."

The cryptic comment just made him shake his head and laugh a little at her. "You're a closet weirdo."

"Undoubtedly," she agreed with false solemnity, and used her grip to reel him in for another heady kiss.

His amusement at her antics quickly transformed to longing again as they kissed, and he pressed into her even harder, almost becoming desperate with his need for her. Her smile, her laughter, her quirkiness, her loving nature in direct contrast to her almost hostile front, everything about the way she moved, every sound that passed through her lips, the way her eyes revealed the truth in what she was saying or feeling, he was consumed by his need for it all, to be a part of it all, so much so that it was almost painful.

Keeping his right hand cupped at the base of her neck while he continued to kiss her, he adjusted his position again and wrapped his other arm around her back, scooping her onto his lap. His breathing picked up rapidly as his body rocked towards hers, not pushing into her but simply feeling himself pressing against her flesh. The rolling motion kept up almost involuntarily as he moved his mouth down to her chest, covering a nipple with his lips and wetting it with his tongue. He pulled back a little, drawing it with him and pinching it a little between his teeth before he let go.

Her hips were rocking in tandem with his now, her breaths coming out in the same panting moans that he was making as he turned his attention to the other nipple. This left room for his hand to continue where he'd left off with the one he'd just abandoned, pinching it and rolling it slightly between his fingers.

So caught up in what he was doing he didn't notice her hand moving down until she touched him, which sent another shiver of excitement through his body. She broke the rhythm so she could move enough to guide him into her, and he pulled his head up to watch her facial expression as his arm around her back adjusted to give himself better leverage, and the other moved down to the side of her waist. Very slowly, he eased himself forward, going only a little ways before he pulled back, looking for any sort of flinch or wince or any other sign of discomfort that would tell him he was moving too far too fast. She had said it had been a while, he could _feel_that it had been a while, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Pushing forward again, he leaned in and kissed her softly before whispering against her lips, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she nearly hissed back, and pushed herself onto him a little further than he had intended to go on that second round. He felt her lips purse tight, and he instantly pulled himself back almost to the point that he was all the way out.

"Easy," he suggested, not at all in a mocking way, just given in loving advice. He waited a couple seconds before trying again, the hand on her waist now being used to help guide her movements, as well.

Things got a little easier from there.

She was too impatient, as per the usual, and trying to force him inside of her before that stupid little hole was ready had caused a stinging flare of discomfort in her. Teva would have done it anyway, damn the discomfort, if Bran hadn't read some tiny micro-expression in her, and pulled back. "Easy," he'd said quietly near her ear.

Easy? She didn't _know_ how to take it easy. She wanted him inside of her, and she wanted it _now_, dammit. That disobedient vag had better shape up and learn how to take orders if it knew what was good for it. Her arms looped over his shoulders as she tried to talk her lady parts into relaxing, her breathing beginning to slip into a rhythm.

He started to slide inside of her again, and they got a little further than before, but progress was once again halted by her unaccommodating snatch. Seriously, she was starting to worry that she might have to fire her vagina. It wasn't doing its job very well.

Brandon went to pull out, and it was then that she felt it, the tiniest inner shift as her parts seemed to say 'okay, it's not as bad as we thought...but we're still a little iffy.' "Wait, wait," she hurriedly blurted out, pressing a hand firmly up against his uninjured shoulder. He froze. "Just wait a second." Cautiously, Teva wiggled down a little further, and stopped when her body protested, her eyes squeezed shut. _Be zen-like,_ she suggested to herself. _Just relax, go with the flow; see, kitty, this isn't bad at all._

Abruptly, something within her gave way, and the bulbous head popped inside of her. She gasped, and her nails bit into Brandon's shoulder. He leaned his forehead against her with a heartfelt little groan-yes, okay, she was abnormally tight; _fuckin' I'm sorry_already-and blurted out, "Are you okay?"

"Mm-hm," she hummed, only half paying attention to the question. Her brain was caught up analyzing the unfamiliar presence within her. Geezus, it really _did_ feel alien after so much time. But in a...good way? Like there was liquid heat building inside of her, something dangerously explosive. Without conscious thought, her hips rocked, and took him in further. Her breath came out hot and heavy, a quick expulsion of air that signified the start of something _really good_happening inside of her.

Brandon's hips shifted in response, moving forward at a slow, steady pace until he hit the inevitable end of her. She shuddered, and made some sort of high-pitched mewling noise (was that really her?) as he withdrew with equal deliberateness. Teva's body moved of its own volition, chasing after the sensation once more.

The temperature seemed to increase as the two of them fell into a rhythm that felt natural and so right, a little like dancing, each movement punctuated by the small, desperate noises she couldn't seem to contain. Her hands greedily devoured his skin, though there was no magic to the touch this time. She couldn't concentrate enough to be able to pull that off right then.

Bran started kissing and sucking and sometimes biting his way down her neck to her chest, and god, that was so good she wanted him to have more room for it. Arching her back, she planted her hands on the mattress a little bit behind her, offering her upper body to whatever he wished. Her chest heaved with desire, and she discovered in the next moment that the slight change had given her more leverage, and altered the angle of his length within her ever so slightly. The next time their bodies met, it brought a tiny scream from her lips.

Harder, and faster; lips teasing her breasts, and tickling her upper most ribs just under them until her nerve endings snapped like live wires, overwrought with sensation; his arm firmly wrapped around her, helping her maintain that amazing angle that was making her see flashes of light behind her eyelids; a dizzying tumult of sensations that culminated in her grinding down on him, her body tight as a vice, and he suddenly seemed twice as large within her.

Her hand slipped on the bed, and she lost her balance, folding backwards. Brandon followed her down, his eyes shut tightly, lips parted to release quick, urgent breaths. He propped himself up on his arms, and she had a second to think about his recovering wounds before he thrust through the tightness of her inner walls, still contracted around him, hips pistoning with the kind of urgency reserved for striving toward climax. Wherever he was, he certainly wasn't feeling any pain. Maybe later he would, but for now he was alright.

She squeezed her inner muscles around him sporadically, moving with him, hands sliding down his back to grip his derriere. Eight out of ten, Teva thought absently, encouraging him with a little shove to fuck her as hard as he needed to, or wanted to, or whatever. Somewhere in between one thrust and the next it occurred to her that she was getting off on this as well.

Teva was quivering with another smaller climax when Brandon lowered his face to her shoulder, and groaned as he came, an expression of sweet release that sounded also like a benediction for her. He trembled hard, and panted as he rode out the last dregs of his ecstasy.

She caught him up, when his strength failed him, and turned so they lay on their sides. They clutched each other, and reveled in the afterglow. She had no words to offer just then, no thoughts to share. For once, Teva felt absolutely content to just _be_.

She was looking at him so lovingly, and he was trying his damnedest to hold that look and to return it, but his eyes were growing ridiculously heavy on him. _That_ was annoying. Passing out after sex wasn't uncommon, but _immediately_after? It almost seemed...rude.

Other unusual things started to occur to him, kind of like when he was coming down from some of his drugs. When he was high as a kite, there was sometimes this sensation of being completely in tune with his body, and yet totally detached from it at the same time. Then when the drugs left his system, reality came crashing back with a harshness that was both alarming and obnoxious at the same time. Sex was a lot like that, and right now he was feeling his reality returning.

Not that he regretted a single second of it. He just kind of wished he wasn't in such bad shape _before_ the sex so he could enjoy himself a little better now that it was over. He was sick, had _been_ sick, and then died and come back from it on top of that. No wonder he was so fucking tired. Where the hell he managed to draw all that energy from to perform all those physical feats was now a complete mystery to him, and he kind of wondered if it would take the next three days to build up that invisible reserve again. Teva wouldn't _have_to tie him to the bed to keep him there because he'd just burned any hint of fuel he had left.

Then his whole carefully-planned positioning rules had flown right out the window. What was that about not putting his weight on his bad arm? Yup, he was already starting to pay for _that_one. Not only was his shoulder blade currently in the process of scolding him, but the muscle that was still healing together beneath the sealed bullet hole was definitely saying its piece. Funny that he hadn't even felt it in the heat of the moment. With a slight smirk, he thought that maybe he should tell the doctor to market hormones as a pain reliever instead of spit.

A more puzzling thought crossed his mind, too. Teva had clenched his ass with both hands, not hard, but there was definite pressure. It was something he'd let girls do because in that position it was just a natural place for the hands to reach for, but even in the middle of the most wildest sex, there'd always be a slight twinge of...he didn't want to quite call it "fear," per se, but it was a little more than just discomfort. It would only last a second, then he'd mentally tell himself that it was fine, and he'd get over it. That didn't happen this time. It had happened _every_time, all his life, through all those years when he thought he was handling his trauma just fine, not realizing he was simply a ticking time bomb ready to implode under just the wrong circumstances. Now, more than ever, the sensation of someone grabbing at him like that should've set him off. It hadn't, though, not even a little bit.

It was her, he realized, _only_ her that could touch him like that, and he only wanted it to _be_her that touched him that intimately ever again; and in that instant of realization two things happened simultaneously - his heart swelled with the joy over having been so lucky to get her as his guardian angel, and broke with the knowledge that guardian angels always faded back to their lonely worlds once their charge no longer needed saving.

He fell asleep in her arms not knowing whether he should be smiling for her presence or weeping over her impending departure. Nobody got to keep their little bit of Heaven, not in _this_ world.

* * *

**TBC…**


	10. Chapter 10

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Ten

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: You didn't think this was going to be one of those "they had sex, now life is all sunshine and rainbows" fics, did you? I present to you…the return of the angst!

Brought to you by The Beta Branch: make your writing the best it can be. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

Teva waited awhile until she knew Bran was deeply asleep before slipping out of his grasp, and rolling off the bed. She scooped her shirt up off the floor, pulling it on over her head as she left the room. If she thought she'd had to pee before, it was now nothing in comparison to the urgent need once more making itself known. First stop: bathroom.

Eyeing the full tub on her way out, she pulled the plug from the drain.

After that, she yawned hard, thought about the warm bed she'd left, but moved to the kitchen instead for soycaf and a smoke. It seemed like all she had been doing lately was sleeping. Teva was sick of sleeping, and resting, and taking it easy. Screw that.

The book Brandon had given her was sitting on the counter still, with that ridiculously girly purple pen on top of it. She flicked her cigarette out the window, and went to go pick it up. Turning to the first blank page, Teva eyed the surface with skepticism, then shrugged. She brought it over to the couch with her mug of piping hot black gold, and began to write hesitantly, not sure if she was picking the right things to talk about.

_First things first, I am not a writer. I have never jotted down a word in my life. Sharing a room with a twin equals having little to no privacy, so even if we could have afforded the paper, I wouldn't have kept a diary of any sorts. I guarantee that Tamsin would have been all over that._

That said, I am also not quite certain how to begin this. Should it go in chronological order? Can I just write about things as I think of them? What constitutes an "important life event?"

I think more than anything it confuses me to try to summarize myself, because a person is never really complete. We change constantly, affected by the tiniest things as well as those dramatic events. I can try to tell you who I think I am

now, _but ten minutes or an hour from now, I won't be the exact same person._

Things I know with certainty are as follows. In peak physical condition, it takes me two point five seconds to change a clip; I'm incredibly fast. You

can_ kill someone with a coin. Explosives are fun. (I think my fascination from them extends from a deprived childhood wherein I was never able to play with fireworks. In short, I'm making up for lost time.) Living in my neighborhood, I realized at a very young age that I had a choice to make. I could either be one of_ those girls_, the ones that trade on their feminine wiles (I really loathe that term) to get by, or one of the _bad girls_, the ones who hung out with the guys and were just as hard as they were. I chose the latter, because I had seen what lurked behind the first door; exhaustion, loneliness, health problems... I didn't want my life to be like that, so I chose to be hard, to build myself an emotional fortress that would keep me safe._

Safe from who, exactly? From everyone; from everything. My isolation was a deliberate outcome I had decided to pursue. I wasn't going to end up like my mother, a woman who'd built her life around being a victim...

Teva wrote until her hand cramped up, and her coffee went disgustingly cold. As she did so, she wondered if maybe some part of Brandon had known that she desperately required a catharsis, that in some way writing all of this out was going to force a better understanding of herself into being. Maybe.

Then again, maybe it was just a coincidence.

* * *

The room looked kinda like it did when he had woken up in the morning with the light just barely coming through behind the curtain. That meant he had slept the rest of the entire day, which was fine because he kind of felt like shit now. Not in a sick way, really, but he still felt incredibly drained, and "sore" was an understatement. It was like he'd spent an hour doing presses with only his right arm while someone was using the right side of his chest to practice some lighter self-defense maneuvers.

"Oh, god," he groaned into his pillow.

Wait, he hadn't had that when he'd fallen asleep, had he? No, they had still been at this awkward, upside-down, cross angle on the mattress when he'd passed out. He was still there, but now his head was definitely cradled on a pillow, and the blankets had been folded back over the top of him encasing him in a warm little cocoon. For a moment he thought that maybe he should at least turn himself the right way and crawl under the blankets like a normal human being, but that would require moving, and the thought of moving brought forth another little groan. And _that_was probably a good sign that he should probably take his meds again...which he'd left in the bathroom...shit.

"Teva," he called out in a pathetic little whine. Good god, this was just plain sad. He'd killed himself _having sex._If she didn't make fun of him for the rest of forever after this, he'd have to do it for her.

He'd be more human after his meds kicked in, he told himself. And maybe ate something. Oh, and had a shower.

Was that bubble shit still in his hair? Oh, fuck, it was. He moved enough to pull the blanket over his head before he called out for her again - louder this time but still equally as pathetic.

Fucking sad.

* * *

Sometime that afternoon, once her cramping hand had forced her to write with her other hand, and after that one had also protested, Teva had taken a shower and gotten dressed as quietly as she could. At that point, she'd checked on Brandon, and tucked him in, then used the living room to conduct her business, setting up a drop-off point for the statue the following day.

She thought about waking Bran up to take his meds, but decided he probably needed the continuous rest more than he needed his spit pills at the moment.

Instead, she'd called Madden, who had remarked in his own way that she seemed rather chipper that day. Teva had laughed lightly, and demurred from revealing anything. After all, there was no telling just how far this thing with Ghost was going to go. Eventually, he'd get better, and he wouldn't need her there anymore. Then what? She'd go home, and resume her purposeless existence. Maybe he'd call; maybe he wouldn't. It wasn't like he'd have any reason to. Los Angeles was a long way from New Orleans; why the hell would he just be wandering around in the neighborhood there? Unless this was a thing, like a real thing, and then maybe...

What? They'd hook up long distance and live happily ever after?

Teva groaned out loud. Not fucking likely.

Brandon's voice interrupted her berating. "Teva?" Then he repeated the request a little louder.

_Leave it alone_, she told herself. _Enjoy the time you have. _

"Yes?" she replied, and flicked her cigarette out the window, striding over to the bedroom door. Taking hold of the knob in her hand, Teva poked her head into the room. "What's up?" She eyed the bundle of bed covers with some amusement.

"Can you get my meds?" he asked, which came out as a sort of moan.

Jesus H. Christ, he was the saddest human being on the face of the Earth right now. He scrunched down into the covers even more despite the fact that the blanket was already firmly over his head. She'd, of course, seen his hair already, had to have seen it since she was obviously the only person who could've tucked him in, but if she could see the flush of utter mortification at his pathetic-ness reddening his cheeks right now she'd start laughing and probably never stop. He'd laugh about it later, sure - "Hey, remember that time I had this phenomenal sex with the most perfect girl on the planet, and it knocked me totally unconscious, and then I cried like a baby about it when I woke up? _Those_were good times!" Yeah, later. Right now he was still in the whole "acting like a big baby" part when normally he was the "let's go for round two whenever you're ready" type. This was like a kick in the face for his ego as a man.

And, oh my god, why were there still whiny baby words coming out of his mouth?

"...and maybe something to eat if I ask really nice?"

_Shut up, Brandon!_

"I'll serve you breakfast in bed every day for a week when I don't feel like ass, I promise."

Okay, maybe that made it a little better, even if he was still using the whiny, mumbley voice when he made the promise. Plus it made him smile, the notion of waking up next to her every morning and bringing her breakfast, complete with maybe a rose if he could find them and a cutesy little love note (because at heart he was a total romantic). Doing that for her seemed like a more permanent fantasy type thing. He could play at that for a little while.

See? He was in a better mood already, which made him want to tempt fate with another request. He purposely made himself sound _extra_pathetic for this one. "Then maybe you can crawl into my blanket burrito? But you can't have clothes. Clothes don't belong in burritos."

_There_ was a sign of the old Brandon. He hadn't _quite_ killed his manhood just yet.

Teva had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Brandon's whiny tone, but when she'd gotten it together enough to respond, what she said was, "Yes, I will get your meds, and something to eat. Don't expect any miracles though. There's leftovers, or I can make grilled cheese again. Since I don't feel like doing that, you get leftovers. Don't worry though, they're good."

She turned away before he could reply, and went to the kitchen, throwing some food in the cooker to heat it up. As the dish spun around, Teva got Brandon's meds from the bathroom, and came back just in time to hear the appliance ding. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, she filled it up with cold tap water, stuck a fork on the plate, and then eyed all of her potential burdens. She only had two hands, so thinking swiftly, she stuck the pill bottle in her back pocket, and balanced the plate and water in her freed hands.

"Okay," she announced her presence, "Sit up, and take this plate."

Brandon did so painstakingly, the blankets pooling around his waist as he moved, and set it down, using the pillow as a makeshift tabletop. "Thank you," he looked up at her.

"Don't thank me yet," she drawled, fishing the pill bottle out of her jeans pocket. "Save it for the good stuff." Teva threw a playful wink at him as she worked the child safety top, and shook out two pills, dropping them into his extended palm, followed by handing him the water.

She watched as he swallowed them down, then drank nearly half the glass in one long, drawn-out gulp.

"Really, thank you," he added with heartfelt intensity, as she took the glass back, and placed it on the dresser.

"You're welcome." She smiled, and was about to leave the room again when Brandon cleared his throat, stopping her in her tracks. Turning slightly, Teva raised her eyebrow.

"Burrito?" he asked, looking a little vulnerable as he did so, raising the edge of his blanket.

Cocking her hip, she studied the offering, and finally shrugged. "Yeah, why not?" Moving carefully-she'd stretched the area around her stitches during all of the previous activities as well; it felt a little tender now-Teva pulled off the plain white t-shirt she'd slipped into after her shower. "But," she glared, "Eat your food first."

With a little grin, Brandon dutifully picked up the fork, took an exaggerated bite as though to say 'see what a good boy I am?' and shot her a look that told her 'keep stripping.' The very adult look coupled with his ridiculous hair should have seemed stupid. The fact that it didn't kind of scared her.

Laughing a bit at the exaggerated display of good behavior, she unhooked her bra, and unselfconsciously allowed it to fall to the floor.

Bran took another bite, this one larger than the last.

She popped the button on her jeans.

He raised his eyebrows at her, but she stubbornly crossed her arms. "Uh-uh."

As he finished chewing, Brandon mumbled, "Hard ass," in a vaguely pouty tone.

"Damn straight."

And so it was that for every bite, she would get a little more undressed, until she was sliding onto the bed, fully nude, and Brandon put the empty plate on the floor. He wrapped them both up in the blanket, and she wrapped her limbs around him, hitching her leg up over his, and draping her arm across his waist. It was, she realized, her favorite position to fall asleep in.

She felt her eyelids get heavier, and with her head pillowed on his chest all she could smell was the faintly lingering odor of sex and cookies and the slightly tangy odor of all soaps. Teva smothered a chuckle, and let her eyes close. "By the way," she mumbled, "You still need to go grocery shopping. I don't know how the hell you're going to make me breakfast without any food."

* * *

He sighed as he woke up to yet another early morning. Funny how no matter how many years passed, some habits just never died. The inner alarm clock that urged, "Wake up before the monster. Be ready. Just in case," just never seemed to realize that he didn't have to do that anymore, not for a long time now.

But now he was awake, still a little sore, not exactly full of energy, but awake enough where he wanted to be up. The only problem was, he was still wrapped up in a human burrito with Teva, and he was on the inside of the roll. There was no way he could get out without disturbing her, and looking at her face, feeling that little twinge in his chest that he got just by being next to her, waking her up was the last thing he wanted to do.

So he tried to go back to sleep, but then he was in that phase where the more he _thought_ about trying to sleep, the more awake he actually was, and stupid things started trickling into his head making him antsy to be out of bed, things like how he _really_needed to wash that shit out his hair, and maybe finally move the little pathway of books off the floor into a more appropriate place - still in order, because he noticed Teva was still working through them, but somewhere safer where they wouldn't get stepped on. Maybe he'd be up to a little run to the grocery store today, but it'd be a really short trip unless he got to ride around in one of those little scooter carts-

Oh my god, he could ride around in one of those scooter carts and no one would question him! He'd seen his reflection. If he were any paler people would be seeing his organs, and with as thin as he'd gotten people would probably be practically _throwing_food at him.

The thought of getting to ride those things was actually kind of incredibly thrilling to him now. Maybe it was because it would just be insanely immature, and sometimes the little boy in him that never got to actually _be_a little boy inwardly squealed with childish glee when such opportunities presented themselves. It was also because even though no one ever really outright said it, everyone kind of knew that those machines were generally a "don't touch unless you're really old or about a million pounds overweight" deal. He was neither, but his sickness was granting him that one-time free pass to use it without getting those looks of disapproval.

Eyeing Teva again, she could probably totally get away with it too. She had suffered from a fair share of blood loss, and still hadn't quite regained her color either. The thought of her getting to play _with_ him suddenly made the idea that much more appealing, especially when a flash image of them racing their carts down the aisle popped into his head. Holy shit, they were going to get kicked out of the store, and he was _so_game for that.

"Teva, angel, wake up!" he said in an excited manner, like a kid wanting to open his Christmas presents, not even realizing he'd called her the pet name that he'd dubbed her in his head.

"What?" she said in alarm, sitting up instantly and looking for any signs of danger, then back to him, seeming to search him over for any signs of distress.

Oops, maybe he should've done that a little slower. He sat up beside her, giving her his most sheepish, apologetic look.

"Sorry, it's okay, everything's okay, I just wanted to go to the store. You're the one that said we needed food, right?"

The confused glare she shot at him was nearly at intensity levels of melting his brain with her eyes. Hoping to give her an answer to her unasked question that would kill said look, he reached for both of her hands and squeezed as he pointedly explained. "Teva. We are sick and injured and generally unhealthy looking, enough that we'll probably be giving people that 'should I be wearing a Hazmat suit around these guys?' vibe. Do you have any idea what this means?"

"That we're sick and injured, and _you_look Hazmat suit gross, not me," she answered, but there was a little spark of curiosity in her voice now beneath the irritation of just having woken up to a false alarm.

He brought his hands up to rest against her cheeks, and leaned a little closer to her face, staring her in the eyes. "We can _ride_ the _scooters_ at the grocery store. _This_ is a golden opportunity. _Will_you come ride the scooters with me?"

For some reason her answer was nearly as important to him as if he'd just asked for her hand in marriage. It was funny how being brought back out of the dark, back from death, could make the smallest, stupidest things seem suddenly important. Depressed, drug-hazed Brandon had been in charge for such a long time though, and as silly he was being he was just ready for his fun side to step back out into the world again. Though it _was_kind of odd how the order of his fun-Brandon rebirth somehow went from sex to blanket burritos to scooters...

Ah well, he never said his fun side was exactly sane.

Staring into his earnest face, Teva couldn't find it in herself to say no. With a little sigh, she nodded, though she was not at all enthused about being woken up _to go to the grocery store._What the hell? Did she look like a soccer mom or something? 'Gotta drop the kids off, then run my errands.' Ugh, god, they were going to run into soccer moms at the store.

"Great!" Brandon exclaimed, and kissed her briefly, and that was pretty good so she kissed him back. Definitely made her feel a little less grumpy about this whole morning thing.

Pulling away, she flopped back down on the mattress, eyed him from her prone position, and told him, "You should go take a shower. If you thought you looked ridiculous yesterday, you should see your hair now." Nodding very seriously, Teva then ruined her solemnity by starting to chuckle. "And make the soycaf, kitchen bitch."

Rolling back over, right out of the blankets so that Brandon could get out, she closed her eyes with every intention of going back to sleep until she smelled soycaf.

"Showering was actually the first thing on my list anyway, so there," he sassed with a giddy smile as he escaped the bed trap. Taking a second to cover her in the blankets again and give her another little kiss, he pulled out some clothes (_real_clothes, not 'bum around the house in my underwear' type clothes), snagged his pills off the top of the dresser where Teva had left them, and ran- okay, no, he sort of continued to just do his paced walk so he wouldn't trip or burn out energy sort of thing - to the bathroom.

He actually took his time in the shower, not just because he felt a little bad about waking Teva up so early for something so utterly ridiculous (though his excitement over it wasn't diminished one little bit!), but because the warm water cascading over his sore, tired body felt really good, and because he wanted to take the time to shave again. He could still look sick and pathetic enough to need the scooter without coming off as a gross, diseased sewer rat.

Cleaned, dressed, his meds kicking in, he actually kind of felt like a real boy again as he carefully made his way to the kitchen to start up the requested soycaf. Once he had the pot going he decided to go ahead and pick up the journals while he waited, noting that the one he had given Teva wasn't where they'd last left it. He hoped that meant she had decided to put something in it, but it wasn't within his rights to find out. Those were private thoughts, only to be shared if the writer wished it, and he knew better than most anyone else the fear of those thoughts being revealed to the wrong person. That's why he'd always kept them boxed up and hidden away in his secret cubby holes in the closest and cupboards that were scattered around the apartment, safe from the insatiable curiosity of the average human being. He'd only started leaving them out when he stopped letting people up to his place, and especially when he pretty much stopped leaving his place all together unless he needed to go out to get his hits or pretend to be committing suicide or something.

Now he simply stacked them in neat little rows on top of the coffee table in chronological order, tilting part of the books a little to one side in one of the stacks so she'd know where the book she had been working through fit into the timeline, and placed his most recent journal by itself in front of them. Maybe he'd write in it later about the scooters. It'd been a long time since he wrote anything remotely positive in there.

Noting that the soycaf was finished brewing, he got up to pour a mug and, as an afterthought, decided he could start with a little mini-breakfast in bed sort of deal. Pulling open the token drawer of random shit that everyone seemed to have in their homes, the one with all the odd things like pens and paperclips and the random dice and some safety pins, he found his small packet of rubberbands. Moving quickly so he could hopefully beat Teva to the punch, he dumped them all out of the bag, snapped them around the middle of the mug, scrawled a few lines on a piece of paper he tore from his journal, and tucked the folded note beneath one of the bands. He then made his way back to the bedroom where Teva looked like she was warring with herself on whether the soycaf was really worth getting out of bed for.

"Here," he said with a soft smile as he held out the caffeine offering, "take your time. The scooters aren't going anywhere."

The second she made the decision to take the cup out of his hand, her brows furling in confusion over the extra rubber coating that stretched in a weird way over the handle, he abruptly turned and left the room. Leaving little notes always seemed like such a great idea until they were in the other person's hands, then the anxiety over potential embarrassment became too much. Whether she said anything about it later or not was up to her, and he was fine with it either way, but something about reading a person's facial expressions while they absorbed personal words on a page, it was unnerving. There was too much truth in a person's face when they read, too much subconscious need to react physically to what they were seeing, and if that reaction was a negative one it could be devastating.

So yes, he did the cowardly thing and fled so he wouldn't have to know, even though the words he'd written really weren't that big of a deal. Not really.

_I lost my rubberband somewhere. The doc probably got rid of it or something, but the funny thing is that I didn't even really notice it was gone until now. I think I'm much too close to the heels of my withdrawal period to not be having cravings, to not need something to remind myself not to jump back over to the dark side. This sudden absence of the urge to satisfy my addiction can really only mean one thing then._

_I've gotten addicted to something else, something better than the drugs and the alcohol, something that keeps my mind off the desire to put poison in my body._

_Can you guess what that is? Or, more appropriately, who?_

_You like your coffee black enough that if you look down into it, you should get your answer._

* * *

There she was, lying awake, bright and surly in the morning. The soycaf was done brewing. She could smell it, strong and bitter and oddly sweet to the true caffeine addict. Teva knew she ought to get up, and get moving, but truthfully she just wanted to lie there some more. Just a little longer.

Brandon's timing was perfect, really, and so thoughtful. It felt-she paused to think of just the right way to phrase it in her mind, but sleepily settled on 'really good'-really good to be taken care of. That was an unusual thing in her life, having been raised to be independent pretty much from day one. It was the little things that warmed the cockles of her heart, like the way he tugged the blanket back over her, and had given her a little peck before he went to go take a shower. She didn't know how to react to all that, so she accepted the mug silently, wondering why there were rubber bands wrapped around it. Teva was about to thank him when he fled.

She examined the mug again, and found a little folded piece of paper tucked under the bands. Teva fished it out, and read through it. Glancing up, she looked out the open doorway to see if Brandon was within eyesight. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she read it again, and gulped down her soycaf. Her heart-cockles melted a little more. It was so corny, but it occurred to Teva with a start, she was eating that shit up. Nobody had ever treated her like this before, like she was something delicate and sweet. When she hit the bottom of the mug, she got off the bed, and stalked nude through the living room, noting the condensed pile of journals now on the coffee table.

Brandon was in the kitchen getting his own mug of soycaf. He must have felt her coming, the tiny hairs rising up on the back of his neck, or maybe the spot between his shoulder blades itching, because despite her silent approach, he turned to face her. Took in her nudity with widening eyes, and a little gulp.

She admitted she probably looked a little intimidating from his perspective. There she was, naked, and poker faced, and coming straight toward him with a mug in one hand, and his note in the other. Whatever. Teva slid her empty mug onto the counter top, and carefully placed his full one next to hers, plucking it nimbly out of his hands. With a steady touch on his chest, she wordlessly backed him up against the fridge, and raised herself up a hair on her toes. She slanted her lips across his, kissing him deeply, the pressure of her mouth, and the smooth demand of her tongue full of promise.

Teva didn't kid herself about what this was. She wasn't good with words, not out loud, and saying something like this, giving voice to the primal feelings swirling around inside of her, well, that just didn't come off really well with guys. Still, it was there in that kiss, the cornucopia of base urges that drove her to slide her hands up underneath his shirt, greedily mapping out the subtle muscle definition with her fingertips, still with his note pinned against her left palm with her thumb: possession, affection, lust, need. She wondered if he could read all that, if he'd get the message.

By the time, she pulled away they were both short of breath. Teva smiled a little at the poleaxed look on his face, but said nothing.

"Uh..." Brandon stuttered.

She turned, refilling her coffee mug, swiping her cigarettes off the counter, and padding into the bathroom without another word. A laugh bubbled up and spilled out. He might not have been able to read all the nuance in that kiss, but she knew what it meant. A wordless, visceral claim. _Mine._

It took him a moment to recuperate from naked kitchen make-out time as she disappeared into the bathroom. Apparently she had liked his little note, something he realized with what was probably a goofy smile, and an urge to follow her into the shower to continue what she had started.

Buuuut that wasn't going to work. If normal bed sex had knocked him down for the rest of the day yesterday plus the entire night, trying to do things while standing up in the shower...shit, his arm would probably give out, and he'd probably drop her. That would kind of put a damper on the whole act.

Sighing, but still grinning, he shook his head and walked over to the bathroom door. Leaning his forehead against it lightly, he placed his hand on the knob but didn't go any further than that. "Just so you know," he started, "I'm having a very, _very _hard time thinking with the right part of my anatomy right now. Unless you're one of those people who really prefers their privacy in the shower, consider 'kinky bathroom time' tacked onto the list of things I'm doing for you when I get better, right after breakfast in bed...though I guess that one's kind of for me too... Anyway, just thought you should know."

He backed away and nabbed his soycaf again before settling down on the couch to wait for her.

The shower was relaxing, at least up until Brandon knocked on the door and told her about how he'd like to do dirty things to her in said shower. And yes, if that wasn't a pleasingly dichotomous activity, nothing was. In other words, she was so down for that.

She used her own shampoo and stuff this time, light, pleasant herbal scents made by her neighbor, Karla, who owned a small boutique shop on the edges of the Quarter, and charged a fortune for her organic products. That was her usual stuff. The unscented stuff was for 'runs, because she knew if _she_could track somebody by their scent, somebody else probably could too. So the most they'd get off of her was the smell of cigarettes, which she was also aware had a tendency to overpower personal scents. See, there was a good reason that she was a smoker!

Having nothing better to do, Brandon chanced flipping through his recent journal, going back to the page just after the bloody one. He didn't need to read that one again; that memory was going to stay fresh in his head for a while to come. He was a little curious now about the other stuff though, the stuff he had been doing after he'd taken that leap down into full despair. What was he writing about when he was too high to do much more than lay around in a daze on the floor of his living room?

Reading over the first few pages, he had to arch an eyebrow at himself. He had a tendency to write in metaphor sometimes, but this...fuck, it looked like he'd just thrown random words together that had nothing to do with anything. Even the parts that were a little clearer, that he knew what he was trying to get at, were still bizarre enough that several years from now when he'd forgotten some of this darkness he probably wouldn't have a fucking clue what he'd been talking about.

_Huh_.

Several years from now? _Was_ he actually planning on hanging around that long after he took care of Lonnie? It was a strange thing to consider, his future. He had been so certain that he'd wanted to die, but now he didn't know. He almost _wanted_ to say that he didn't, that his happy mood as of late meant he was clearly on the mend, but what about after? What would happen when Lonnie became a finished goal, and the person in his shower right now who had reminded him what it was like to smile went back to her own world? What would keep him ticking after that?

At one point during her shower, Teva merely stood under the spray, body at an angle so she could smoke, and drink her coffee. The fan and steam took the smell up to wherever smells went to die. She did it all the time at home, was kind of an expert at smoking in the shower, actually. Somehow, she had the feeling that a normal person probably wouldn't be as impressed with that skill as she was.

Cigarette discarded in the toilet bowl, and the empty coffee cup sitting on top of it, Teva quickly shaved her legs and other requisite parts, lest she get kicked out of the girl club altogether. Finally, she stepped out, and toweled off, reaching for her bag of clothes.

She had a very simplistic style. Most of her t-shirts were bought in three packs, and came either in white or black. Her jeans were worn low on her hips, mostly because she didn't have very wide hips to begin with, so they were constantly slipping without the aid of a belt. Sometimes she wore shorts, especially during the summertime, and those tended to vary a little more than her pants did, running the gamut in length from short-shorts to bermuda shorts to capris. Her shoes were either vintage-style Chuck Taylors or boots of some kind. Dresses and skirts were saved for dates.

However, that wasn't to say there weren't a few oddball items in her clothing collection. That day she decided to break a little from tradition, and tugged on a pair of tight red twill pants that felt soft to the touch. After a moment's indecision, Teva finally tugged on the black corset style shirt, eyed the silver zipper in the back, and added actual jewelry to the mix as well.

The idea that she was dressing up for a man sort of threw her for a loop, and she stood there for a minute staring at the girl in the mirror with the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, long, thin earrings dangling from the lobe piercings she rarely bothered to ornament, about to raise her eyeliner up to her lids to paint on her stylistic cat eyes. Who the hell was she turning into? Rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness, Teva finished her make-up, which consisted only of eyeliner and mascara, and a light application of chapstick (it was too early in the day for full-on pouty, red lips). She closed her bag up, and shoved it underneath the floating counter where it had lain before, then left the bathroom, telling herself to stop obsessing.

As the bathroom door pulled open, he shoved his thoughts aside and put the book back on the table. Today was not a day for negative thoughts. It was a play day, one to be spent showing his guardian angel that her work was paying off, and there was no room for darkness in that.

He stood up practically beaming as she came into the living room. "You ready? Or do you want another soycaf? And do you just want to do groceries, or maybe I can take you to The Grove in case you want to pre-spend your statue money on other shit? Because there's a superstore near there where we can get normal food, but The Grove also has a real farmers' market attached. You don't know what The Grove is, do you? It's like a mall, been around since forever but it's a lot bigger now than it used to be. It's set up just like any other indoor mall but it doesn't have a ceiling, so it's like being inside and outside at the same time. I think you might like that. They have scooters there too. And we should probably take my car, right? Carrying stuff back on the metro line while we're tired probably wouldn't be a good plan. I _do_have a car of my own, by the way. I only boost them when I'm doing something illegal."

Jesus, he was like the Energizer Bunny all of a sudden. Probably a mix of all the sleep lately, the fact that his meds had kicked in completely so he wasn't hurting, the thrill of riding the stupid scooters, the caffeine...the sex yesterday probably had something to do with it...and just the notion of spending a normal day out with his girl. _If_she was his girl. For today, at least, he was going to let himself think that way.

"You ever driven a stick?" he asked abruptly. Oh yeah, his car was an original muscle car, one that he had to get a full resto-mod done on because it was so old that the original engine still required gas to fuel it. Now it ran on a charge like all other vehicles, but he kept it as a fully manual, shift-and-clutch ride. Maybe he'd take her out of the city and let her have a little fun with that if they had any energy left after being out and about. There was nothing quite like driving a clutch.

Bemused, Teva blinked, and chuckled. "Wow, um, where to start. That was kind of a lot, B. Let's see..." She walked into the kitchen, and started digging in the cabinets. "First things first, I can take my soycaf with. There is a travel mug in here somewhere..." the adept drawled, fishing out a capped silver travel mug with a little 'ah ha!' While she filled it up, she added, "No, I did not know what The Grove was; yes, we should take your car; and yes, I have driven stick before. I learned how to drive on a stick. My current car is a stick shift." Sipping the excess liquid off the top before it spilled over, Teva added wryly, "I terrify people with my driving, because apparently eighty in a fifty-five isn't advisable."

Glancing up as a sudden thought occurred to her, she added with a laugh, "Not that I'm a bad driver. I'm always in control of my car. I just...know how to drive better than most people; high octane, like a race car driver." With a wink, Teva confessed, "Though don't ask me to tell you how anything works under the hood. I don't know jack about shit when it comes to vehicle mechanics. I can change a flat, and my oil, and that's about it. Oh, and wiper blades, I've done that too."

Brandon chuckled, and approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't worry; I don't think we'll be running into any mechanical issues today. Just driving."

Turning slightly, caught up in the very romantic embrace, Teva curved her free hand behind his neck, and kissed him softly. "Okay," she agreed. Then suddenly she remembered, "But if we're still out and about at one o' clock, I've got to have you drive me to the boardwalk. I'm exchanging the statue today."

Pressing his lips to her shoulder, Bran murmured, "Okay, not a problem," and smiled as he pulled away from her.

Another ten minutes later, with her boots on, and pistols stowed in the bag with Kali, a light riding jacket tossed over her shoulders, Teva followed Brandon down to the garage and wondered idly which was his vehicle. Then again... She stopped in her tracks, tilting her head to the side as a slow grin curled her lips. Really, she should have guessed. "Hello, beautiful," Teva purred, and strolled up to the classic. "What's your name?"

"_This_ is Rena," Brandon said, running his hand along the sleek, black hood. "It means 'reborn.' I was on this 'run in Arizona, things went a little haywire and we had to split up with the goods, lay low for a little bit until things blew over. I wound up in this old house out in the middle of nowhere, looked like nobody had lived in it for ages. I found Rena out in this...barn, I think, or what maybe used to be a barn. She was in pretty bad shape, but her frame was still intact, so I couldn't just leave her there. First thing I did when I got home and got paid was to turn right back around to pick her up. I put a _lot_of money into this car, but it was worth it." A frown crossed his face as his hand picked up dirt from the canvas top. "I've been a little neglectful lately."

"I'm sure she'll forgive you," Teva smirked.

"Yeah," he answered a little absently as he continued to inspect his beloved vehicle, "need to add her to the list of things to take care of when I'm up to it." Turning back around to face Teva, he put his smile back on and tilted his head towards the passenger side door in a gesture to get in as he keyed in the security code. Classic car she may have been, but he spared no expense in making sure her anti-theft system was as high end as possible. He did know all the little tricks of the trade, after all, and didn't want anybody like himself coming along and taking her. That meant there was another code he had to punch in to start her up, and the theft network did a quick scan to confirm that he was, in fact, inside the vehicle before the engine actually turned over.

"She's a little more high-tech than she used to be," he said with a laugh as he shifted into gear and pulled out of the garage. "Would you believe she's from 1968? This is an original Chevy Camaro SS - couldn't _believe_she'd just been abandoned like that. Whoever the owner was probably could've made a lot of nuyen off of her, even in the shape I found her in."

"Couldn't you make more off her now?" Feral asked, a teasing note in the question.

Brandon laughed at that. "Yes, I could, but then I wouldn't be able to make people jealous driving around town in my beautiful car with a beautiful girl." He hit the button to fold down the top, letting the sun and wind hit them, and gave her a little wink. "I like to show off. Hope you don't mind."

"Not a bit," Teva replied, fishing a pair of sunglasses out of her inner jacket pocket, and sliding them on. She had to move the passenger seat back a little more until her legs were comfortable. Whoever was sitting there last had to have been a little on the short side. Teva was all leg; she needed the extra room. Clicking on her seat belt, she relaxed back as Brandon took off.

It was a far cry from the first time they were in a car together. She'd been tense and uncomfortable, still metaphorically sitting on her hands. The window had been rolled down, but not out of any need to feel the breeze. Tailored pheromones were some pretty intense shit, at least for her.

This time she wasn't thinking about jumping his bones, and coaxing herself not to. Well, no more than her mind had been preoccupied with recently. Still, she could think in his presence now, which was nice.

Maybe it was the sunshine and the breeze, and Ghost's infectious good mood. For whatever reason, Teva found herself volunteering her thoughts, which wasn't something she often did. "You know, I kind of meant to say something about this when we met up in that diner, but I think it's cool that you got your pheromone implants taken out. They were sort of..." She paused, thinking of a delicate way to phrase it. "Overwhelming?"

He tensed up at the mention of his implants, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter as she kept going.

"No offense," Teva hurried to explain, waving her hand to sort of non-verbally ward off any bad feelings. "It's just...for me, personally, that kind of stuff is like _whoa_, super strong. Like, I almost jumped you in a room full of 'runners. Talk about out of character." She let out a little laugh.

Wiggling out of her jacket, she folded it over her lap, and propped her bare arm up on the door. "I mean, I pretty much have a sense of smell equivalent to a bloodhound, so...yeah."

_Stop,_he wanted to say, but for some reason the word caught in his throat. So he listened as she finished what she was saying, didn't even crack a smile at the mention of her wanting to jump him at their first meet because it wasn't funny anymore, not like he thought it was then. It wasn't funny at all, because it hadn't been real then; it was just him putting off the smell of fresh meat and her tempted to take a bite, and he remembered the falseness of that had made her angry. She had every right to be.

And then after, when the girls would give him That Look, the thought of it made him feel sick all over again. Remembering what he'd done in response to that made him feel sick too - off somewhere in some alley or something cutting himself open. That was back when he was more of a drunk than a drug addict, when he could still think on some level of clarity. Those journal entries weren't strung out nonsense. They were words that described actions he had performed through the making of conscious decisions. Sure, he had no memory of actually sitting there stabbing into himself over and over again until he nearly bled to death, but when the girls kept fawning over him over his false love potion, freaking him out, he made the choice to drink until he couldn't stand it anymore. He could've just gone home.

Then there was after, when he'd gotten the implants removed in a more responsible way, that day after when he was finally feeling kind of good about himself, celebrating something he'd done right. He'd gotten the call about Lonnie that day. Then got so high off god knows what that he lost a week, apparently getting into violent fights where he wound up with a couple stab wounds amidst the broken bones. He never did find out what he'd done, who he'd beaten on, possibly killed, if maybe there'd been another girl...

He had to pull over. Even with the top down he was suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe in there, a little too hot, and he was going to be sick.

Unfortunately, Feral had been quite caught up with the scenery, and her awkward backwards-style compliment, and hadn't noticed until it was too late just how upset she was making Brandon. The car's deceleration was the first hint she had of it, and she turned to look at him, mouth opening in a little 'o' of surprise.

"Sorry," he huffed as he brought the car to a stop and leaned his head against the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic to stop zipping past so he could maybe get out and sit on the curb. "I'm sorry, I never should've...I'm sorry."

There was a break between oncoming cars and he took advantage of it, practically falling out of the car and barely remembering to shut to door before stumbling over to the curb. He sat down with his head leaning forward almost between his knees, taking deep breaths to stem the nausea.

She took in the look on his face, and his incoherent apologies silently, watching Ghost scramble out of the car.

Fantastic. His first time out, _really_out, since the whole Lonnie incident and he was fucking it up.

"Sorry," he mumbled again. There was really nothing else he could say to make this right.

As he went to go sit on the curb with his head between his knees, Teva bit her lip, abruptly grateful for her shades and their ability to serve more than one purpose. She didn't want him to see how badly she felt right now. She hadn't meant to make Brandon upset, hadn't even known what kind of mess she was inadvertently stepping into. Fuck. Somehow she'd done it again; it seemed her secret talent in life was saying the exact wrong thing, and just fucking everything up.

Now Feral was mad. Not at Brandon, but at herself. She should've kept her fucking mouth shut, like usual. Nobody ever really benefited from her insights anyway. She just pissed people off, or in Brandon's case, crumbled under the weight of his myriad of mental issues.

What was she even doing here? Jesus H. Christ on a bike with wings! Like she could _actually_help this man. He had real issues, serious ones. What he needed was a professional trained to deal with this kind of emotional PTSD shit. She was probably just making things worse, selfishly muddying the situation with her own desires. What a mistake. What a monumental error in judgment she'd made.

When the air cleared, what would they have? Brandon would still have his problems, and Teva would still have the emotional IQ of a turnip. If he was smart, he wouldn't want her at all; maybe this was some you-saved-my-life, I-lurve-you craziness that would fade with time. If she was smart, she'd get on a plane as soon as she could, and get the fuck out of there. _Retreat, retreat!_

Teva wiped her face clear of any expression, grateful once again that her sunglasses hid her eyes for she knew all too well how they displayed her emotions. At the moment they probably looked a little shiny from all the inner turmoil. Slowly, she popped the door open, and went to sit a safe distance away from Brandon on the curb.

Quickly, before she lost her nerve, Feral spoke. She kept her voice firm and matter-of-fact, free of the stupid, selfish emotions whirling around inside her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..." Turning away slightly, Teva suppressed a wince. She could hear the distance in her already, like she was already walking through the terminal toward her gate.

His head snapped up as she spoke, and unlike her he _didn't_have his glasses on to hide what was in his eyes. All within a second it went from panic to loss to grief to a sort of dutiful acceptance before he turned his face away again, keeping silent for long enough to sort everything out in his head.

He'd heard it in her tone, seen it in the way she was sitting off to the side away from him. He was too much for her to handle; she had tried, really tried, had honestly thought she could do this, but she'd just hit that point where she realized he was on one side of a line that she didn't really want to cross. He was tainted, broken, and it wasn't fair to expect anyone to come to his side of chasm, to be caught up by the creatures that lurked in his shadows.

Protecting others from himself, and protecting himself from feeling the hope that maybe this time it'd be different; it was just the way it was, _always_was, and always would be. People like him weren't allowed to...

People like him were meant to die alone.

So inside he hardened himself a little bit, readied himself to wear his mask and play his part, needing to make sure she knew it was okay, because it really wasn't her fault. She needed to leave him without a guilty conscience because she had nothing to feel guilty for. It was just him.

Blowing out a breath to ready himself, he looked up at her again, this time in full character. "It's not your fault," he assured her with absolute confidence, because that was the absolute truth. "There was just...a lot of shit that went down with the implants. You didn't get that far in the books; there was no way you could've known. It's fine. I'm okay now. Sorry I flipped out."

He stood up and walked over to her, holding out his hand to help her up while giving her a strong, reassuring smile. "Let's go before the old people snag all the scooters."

And inside, his heart was shattering to a million pieces because he knew that he'd already lost her.

Even as she took his hand, Teva knew the shift in Brandon's mood wasn't genuine. She wasn't quite that dumb. Only bipolar people switched moods that quickly.

But in a move made of pure cowardice, she didn't fight the illusion. Things had gotten too intense here, had been intense from the start. From meeting Ghost in a diner and finding she barely recognized that man from the one she had previously met, to the motel vigil while he went through withdrawal, and then to practically living together, getting help from him on her 'run, the romantic feelings building up... Maybe it was just a result of too much contact.

Somewhere, she'd crossed a line.

Suddenly, Feral felt an overwhelming sense of understanding for Red's dilemma. He hadn't wanted to chance everything on an unstable creature either, not when he had enough of his own problems. They were all pods on the same pea plant, the same _defective_pea plant.

Offering Brandon a small smile, Teva nodded. "Scooters it is."

What she _wanted_to say was 'it's not your fault either.'

Her tongue held firmly between her teeth, Feral slid back inside the car. She tried not to think about the hard lump in her chest, and the feeling that they were saying their goodbyes. She just wanted to be in this moment...but not too in the moment, not anymore. Brandon deserved more than some chick with half a heart, and even less of a clue how to use it. He deserved somebody whose carelessness wasn't going to make him any worse off than he was.

* * *

**TBC…**


	11. Chapter 11

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Eleven

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: Makin' up, and some other stuff. Feral reveals some shit!

The Beta Branch: just do it…or something. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

Ghost kept up the easy chatter as he drove, pointing out places where he and Nate used to get into trouble as kids after they'd escaped Lonnie's imprisonment, or what closed-down building used to be this or that awesome store, or where he'd spotted a trid star here or a musician there. It was light conversation, meant to keep his mind from wandering down to his bleeding, shredded heart, and she went along with it. Things were just safer that way, a little more comfortable for both of them.

When they got to the store he honestly did feel that slight twinge of mischievous excitement again as he cautiously strolled up to one of the scooters (he'd called dibs on green), and sat down on it right in direct view of several potentially disapproving people. They didn't say a thing. The smile he had turned to Feral at that had been genuine until she smiled back, and that made him sad all over again because that beautiful smile wasn't actually his anymore. She did it to humor him, got on a scooter to humor him too; laughed as they raced down the aisles at a snail's pace, and accidentally knocked over a stack of toilet paper; looked appropriately apologetic as a store clerk scolded them before he let them off with warning, after which they just laughed again; shot a false irritated look at him when he put too much sugary crap into the baskets and not enough healthy stuff; nodded her approval after they spent way too long in the bubble bath section trying to pick out just the right scent. It was fun, "normal," and all so false at the same time. He enjoyed it immensely while at the same time wholeheartedly despising it.

They went to the market next, going through the booths at a leisurely pace so they could pay better attention to what was being sold at what cost, making sure they were purchasing the best products at the most reasonable price. They ate lunch while they perused, both of them going with simple sandwich wraps made with real chicken and vegetables. For dessert he directed her towards a pastry booth and let her pick out what she wanted. She went with this miniature three-layer chocolate cake/cheesecake/whipped cream combo while he chose a more simple cherry, cream cheese turnover with chocolate sauce drizzled lightly on top. She got some of the whipped cream on her nose, and she tensed just slightly when he moved to wipe it off for her. He pretended not to notice and simply laughed as he quickly swiped the napkin across her face, feeling himself grow that much weaker as his heart bled out a little more.

It was time for her to do her trade after that, so he drove them to the boardwalk in what he hoped came off as just a contented silence. In truth he just didn't have much energy left to keep up the game anymore, and asked her before she got out of the car if it'd be okay to go home once she was done. He was tired, he said, and it was the god's honest truth. Just the _thought_of having to pretend to be happy while they cruised around the mall made him feel exhausted, and either she saw it on his face or, more likely, was feeling the exact same way because she agreed without any hesitation.

He sat on the hood of his car looking as threatening as possible as the trade went down. If the client so much as breathed on her the wrong way, he was ready to jump in. There was no question that he'd die for her a second time, even if it were permanent. That darker side of his psyche almost wished that would be exactly the case.

It wasn't. The trade went smoothly, they went back to the apartment, hauled the groceries up, and got them all put away in relative silence. It was still too early in the evening to actually go to bed at that point, which made it perfect. For him, in his still much weakened state, it was perfectly normal to crash out at odd intervals. She'd stay out on the couch for the time being, or maybe go for a run, or do whatever it was she needed to do to have an excuse to stay away from him. He knew how it worked. Him going to bed would be beneficial to him, and probably a complete relief for her.

He barely said goodnight without choking on the word, running completely out of the willpower it took to keep up his outer appearances. The second the door was shut he simply slid down against it, hid his face in his arms so he'd muffle himself as best he could, and started to cry like he'd just lost the most important thing in the world to him...which, in a sense, he had. The last time he'd let himself cry like this was when he got home from Horizon. The time before that? After Nate's funeral. So yes, in that moment, she really _was _the most important thing in his world, and way to go him, he'd destroyed it.

Guess he failed her class, after all.

* * *

The change between them made her sad (understatement; she felt like she'd just lost something really great, really important-Feral hadn't cared about somebody like this for a long time, and her heart was just as stubborn as the rest of her, reluctant to give it up even despite her orders) but Feral persevered. She put on a happy face, and played the game until Brandon was just too exhausted to keep it up anymore.

Going back to the apartment was in some ways a relief. They could both subside into silence, and lick their wounds in private. In other ways, it was yet another hardship. It occurred to her that Ghost would probably go in his room, maybe lie down, but she...couldn't do that anymore. Distance; Teva needed to keep her distance. It looked like she was couch-surfing for awhile then. Her back twinged in despair, but she ignored its protestations.

_You could get a motel room._ The insidious, yellow-bellied coward that lived in the deepest recesses of her mind, and only really came out when the issue was an emotional one, whispered enticingly to her. _You could book a flight, and leave right now, and he would be safe from you._

That sounded like a nice escape from her problems. It was, after all, the same thing she'd done when confronted with Red's rejection.

_No, I can't,_ Teva recalled. _I promised to help him._With his uncle, that was. Clearly, she wasn't fit to do anything more. He probably needed therapy even more now. Briefly, she entertained the possibility of absorbing mental problems via osmosis.

She was standing there eyeing the front door, then looked at the open bathroom door where her things were under the sink, and finally flicking her gaze to the closed bedroom. Bouncing back and forth between the three of them indecisively, it suddenly registered to her what she was hearing. He was crying. Her stare locked on the bedroom door.

Damn. Brandon was crying. She'd done that. She had made that happen. Without conscious thought, Teva found herself drifting closer to his door. The door between them. Very quietly, she put her palm against the wood, and felt tears of her own begin to form. He was right there, and yet she couldn't bring herself to reach out to him, to make this better. _I'm doing this for your own good._Moving stealthily, she leaned her forehead against the door, swallowing the sigh that wanted to come out. "I'm sorry," she breathed, so quietly even she barely heard it.

With an abrupt determination, Feral sprang up, and moved away, swiping her journal off the side table next to the couch. She wrote quickly, and the letters altered between cursive and print, a decided urgent slant to them. She may have pressed a little too hard with the pen, so the pages beneath bore faint lines on them.

_You don't understand right now. I probably couldn't articulate it if I tried, not in any way that would make sense. I'm not a good person; I'm not even a particularly nice one. I just fuck things up. I'm really good at that._

_I overstepped a boundary. Too many, in fact. What you need isn't a lover or a girlfriend; you needed a friend, and I failed in that regard. Frankly, I'm concerned that I may have just made things worse for you._

_Please don't be sad. I know you think you feel this way now, but when the dust settles, you'll realize I've done you a favor._

_You're not the only one with issues. Nobody gets into 'running because they're sane, well-adjusted people. Everyone has problems._

_**I **__have problems. It's not fair of me to ask you to take them on; you've got your own battles to fight._

_This book is for you. I wrote it __**to **__you, for you, because you said you wanted to understand, and the words stick in my throat when I try to tell you. I didn't get as far as I wanted to. I wanted to tell you about the scars on my back, the ones right above my hip; I wanted to tell you about finding my sister again after thinking she was dead; I even wanted you to know about Red, and why I came to L.A. in the first place. I won't get to all that though, so I hope this is enough to make you understand who and why I am._

_If you still want back-up with your uncle, let me know. I'll stay a few extra days in town._

_P.S. Don't forget to take your neighbor's containers back._

Teva closed the book with a sigh, and left it on top of the other journals. She slithered into the bathroom and picked up her things, put them all away, and didn't look in the mirror because she didn't want to see the expression on her face. There were some things in Brandon's room, yesterday's clothes, her pajamas from the other night, but they were replaceable, she decided. Quietly, she headed for the door. Just as she was about to let it close behind her, she transferred half the remaining balance from the 'run's payment to Ghost's account. He almost died for her. She owed him that much at least.

The front door locked behind her. Teva fled, sparing one last look over her shoulder as she blindly started down the stairs, dashing the moisture from her eyes.

She found a motel close to the airport, and apparently she looked as bad as she felt because the make-up wearing transvestite at the check-in counter looked her up and down very slowly. He drawled, "Honey, this ain't Aztlan."

Confused, she squinted her eyes at him, and replied eloquently, "Huh?" Feral slumped a little further on the counter. She'd taken the metro and the bus down there, and walked another seven blocks from the stop with her bag slung over her shoulder. The journey had pretty much used up whatever reserves she had. Teva was forced to admit to herself that she needed rest, and soon. She wasn't quite as recovered as she'd been telling herself she was.

"You know how in old movies the fugitives are always running to Mexico?" the man began. "It's their escape. Well, sweetie, this ain't the last stop, but it's damn close, I guess."

Teva just stared at him, and finally held out her hand. "The key."

"Yeah, okay. Here ya go," the guy huffed, and dropped it in her palm.

She turned without another word and exited the office. With a sigh, Feral noted it was on the second floor. Schlepping it up the stairs, her grip was a lot tighter on the railing than it would have been normally. Finally, she swiped the pass key, and slipped into the room, locking it up tightly. Teva let her bag slip to the floor beside the bed, dropped her jacket on top, and finally flopped down on the edge of the bed to take her boots off.

She left the curtain drawn, the room dark and cool in comparison to the sunny outside world. Rolling onto her side, Feral let her eyes slip closed. She wouldn't cry. She _wouldn't_.

Teva was still telling herself that when the tears began to roll out from behind her eyelids, sliding down her face to be absorbed by the pillowcase.

* * *

He sat on the floor for a while after he'd finished crying, a little angry at himself for falling into that state, a lot numb because numb was safer than feeling anything else, and more than a little disappointed that he'd given up his secret stash. His stupid spit pills wouldn't do shit to help him out except make the soreness from the day's activities go away, and right now the physical pain was a lot more welcome than the emotional ones.

What if Feral still sort of felt obligated to play nurse a little bit, though? Obviously she was done with him on any sort of relationship level, but if she went in the bathroom and saw his meds there, would she put two-and-two together and realize he might need them? Would she brave the awkwardness for the sake of making sure that he wasn't in physical pain?

He honestly wasn't certain at that point, but he didn't want her walking in there and seeing him like he was. He'd just make a quick dash to the bathroom to get the pills. She wouldn't question it, probably wouldn't even look at him as he passed by. It would only be awkward for a second.

Only it wasn't awkward at all. It couldn't be awkward because when he stepped out of the room he realized right away that she wasn't there, and that made the tightening of his chest start up all over again.

_Maybe she went for a run, after all?_he dared to hope.

Her bag wasn't in the bathroom. The pills were forgotten as it hit home - she'd _really_ left. That fast, that soon, without even saying goodbye. She wanted to get away from him _that_badly. If he'd known she'd felt that strongly about needing to flee he wouldn't have forced her to even have that one last day with him. He would have just driven her back for her things and let her go. Why the fuck was he so selfish?

The numbness replaced with full-on anger at himself for being so goddamn stupid, he caught his reflection in the mirror and smashed it with his fist for what was probably the third or fourth time since Horizon. The white-hot pain in his knuckles from the impact and the glass biting into it was familiar to the point that it was almost welcoming. He hit the thing again because it wasn't broken enough, and one more time to make sure all the glass fell free of the frame, cascading down into the sink, onto the counter, and hitting the floor with that satisfying tinkling sound that only shattered glass can make.

Done metaphorically destroying his own face, he thought maybe it would just be the beginning to a whirlwind of destruction that he'd unleash on his apartment like he'd done before, but it didn't happen that way. Maybe he was just too physically drained to go there, but for some reason the anger just sort of leaked out of his system until there was nothing left. Looking down at his bloodied hand, he thought briefly that she'd be mad at him for doing that, and then laughed because he realized he didn't have anything to treat it with. She'd dumped the rubbing alcohol at his request!

Running warm water over the cuts, he did his best to make sure as much of the glass was scrubbed out of them as he could get before simply wrapping his hand in a towel and making his way out into the front room. He'd clean up the glass later, probably after he'd forgotten and did something stupid like step on it with his bare feet tomorrow morning. Of course, that would require him undressing and actually going to bed, which was something he probably wouldn't do because his guardian angel had just left him alone to deal with his nightmares.

Maybe he'd go back to reading his journals. He didn't remember where he'd left off when Feral had called him in the first place, so maybe he'd just start at the beginning again...or maybe he'd start with the one on top that wasn't his.

His hand hovered in mid-air above the journal he'd given to Feral, not certain if he really wanted to look inside it. Did she write in it, or did she just leave it there for him because she had no intention of hanging onto it? Maybe he hadn't stressed enough the importance of that gift, that throwing it back at him with such a blatant message of "I don't want it" just served to twist the knife in his chest a little further.

But then again...

He opened it and stared at the letters scrawled inside for a long minute, allowing some sense of relief to wash through him. She'd used it, not only used it but left it for him to read as a parting gift. She at least still cared enough about him to do that much.

Careful not to touch the book with his injured hand - he had enough blood on his own books, he didn't need to be staining hers - he introduced himself to her through her own eyes. She was as quirky in her writing as she was in real life, and sometimes just as guarded, and the way the style of her penmanship altered as she became emotional was just as telling as her eyes became when she was saying one thing and feeling something completely different. It made him want to laugh and cry all over again, and by the time he got to the end, to her personal message to him, he was angry at himself all over again, too.

She hadn't left him because she was done dealing with him and his issues. She'd left him for the exact same reasons that he had let her go. They both thought they were doing each other a favor, and if it wasn't so goddamn sad that their lives had taught them to believe that about themselves, that they had to protect the people they loved by pushing them away, then he'd be laughing at the irony of it.

He had to fix this. There had to be something he could do to fix this, and he didn't think a little call to her comm would do the trick. It wouldn't if their positions were switch-

An idea struck him, one he needed to test anyway if he wanted to see if his plans to take down Lonnie were possible. On his way out the door to his car, he made a call on his comm.

"Switch, I need a couple favors, and fast. First, I need you to track down Feral's comm and tell me where she is. - No, she's not in danger; I just need to find her. She'll be in a motel somewhere. - Yeah, I'm sure. She won't leave town unless I tell her I don't need her help on something. - Okay, and second, is it possible to link your comm to a trid without touching it? I mean, can I direct the signal to highjack a trid that's inside somebody's house if I'm outside? If so, I need to know how to do that by the time I reach her motel."

It could be done. It was a lot harder than just doing it by hand, and without Ghost's limited knowledge in hacking nodes that he'd needed in order to boost the higher-end cars he probably wouldn't be able to pull it off. He also needed an extra Sniffer program to ensure he was tapping into the right trid unit, something he insisted on paying the tech for because he knew those programs weren't cheap. When he went to make the transfer it shocked him to see all the extra nuyen that was suddenly in his account, something he hadn't asked for. He was supposed to be helping her with the 'run to pay her back for playing babysitter, not because he'd wanted any money from it. Shaking his head, he dumped a little extra into Switch's account for the help and because he remembered that the tech was having trouble finding work.

Switch had had some sort of epiphany apparently while he was talking Ghost through the hack process, and had stopped mid-instruction to laugh and say something about how Brandon was about to pull a John Cusack with his radio over his head. Brandon had no idea what that meant, but Switch assured him that it would probably work, that it had been working on women since the 1980's apparently. Somehow hearing that from the geeky tech suddenly made Ghost feel a little _less_secure about his plan. Then again, Switch was the only one amongst them who seemed to be happily involved in a romantic relationship, so maybe there was something to whatever it was he was saying.

Pulling his car up to the spot under the window of Feral's room on the second floor of the motel, he got out and sat on the hood as Switch wished him luck. That was good, because now he was suddenly nervous and would probably need it because idiot him hadn't thought of what he was going to say to her once he got to this point. At least he'd have several minutes to figure it out since it would take a little while to do the hack.

As he set the Sniffer to work, he thought to himself that this was either going to be the most awesome thing he'd ever pulled off or the most embarrassing catastrophe ever. Probably both.

…He had it. He had the connection set and ready to go, and was now just sitting there in a panic because he still had no idea what it was he was supposed to say to her. Then again, maybe pre-planning wasn't the way to go. Maybe it'd be better if he just...talked, and let the first things that popped into his head roll off his tongue. He wasn't going to get anywhere trying to transcribe this thing in his mind first, anyway.

Huffing out a breath, he made his full persona display pop up on her trid as if he were standing in the room with her, looking just like he did now sans the bloody towel wrapped around his hand.

Exhaustion finally led her to sleep, which was probably a good thing. So long as she was sleeping, she wasn't angsting about the sad state of life and other things she currently found herself faced with. Existential crises weren't her usual fare.

So it was with great surprise-"Hi."-that she suddenly found herself flinging a knife at the wall. Feral had moved without thought, her defensiveness too ingrained in her to not respond to the voice, any voice abruptly invading her space. The trid was talking to her. Great.

The projection held its hands up. "Don't shoot me! I'm not real! You try to shoot a hole through me and you'll probably shoot your neighbor through the wall, and that'd be bad." He waited a beat, holding his breath in anticipation of hearing a gun being fired. When everything stayed quiet he lowered his persona's arms back down.

Teva eyed the trid projection with sleepy alarm and confusion plastered all over her face. What the hell was Brandon doing coming out of her trid? How was this even possible? (She took a second to remind herself that just because she didn't know how to do it, didn't mean it was impossible.)

He went on speaking, oblivious to her bemusement as she woke up the rest of the way, rubbing her face, and got off the bed, padding over to the little box. She waved her hand in front of it, checking to see if he could like...see her. That'd be fucking creepy. Then, of course, she felt stupid, because_ of course_ he couldn't _see_ her, this was a trid player, not a...a... Her technological knowledge failed her.

"Okay, not shooting is good, so I'm just going to keep talking now and hope you don't shut off the trid. I just...am I actually talking to you? This thing doesn't go two ways, so if I'm talking to wall right now I'm sorry. Maybe you could turn the trid or something to face you if that's the case? If you want?" From where he was sitting out on his car, he shook his head and muttered, "This is so weird," then cringed as he realized she would've heard that from his persona, too. _Get it together._

Snorting lightly, Feral inwardly agreed. However, she crossed her arms and listened as Brandon went on.

"I don't really know what I'm doing, so I'm really sorry if this comes out totally stupid, but I wanted to...I can't...you need...ugh, how do I do this without sounding like I'm begging? You know what? Fuck it. Maybe I should beg." He directed his persona to get down on its knees, but he kept his voice steady and rational, no hint of begging in it at all. "This isn't done in desperation like some distraught schmuck whose girlfriend just dumped him, but I really do need you to come back. Yes, I have issues, some pretty _big_ fucking issues, and they're going to pop up out of the blue on occasion whether we want them to or not. I'm sorry about that. I'd like to tell you I can keep myself under control but I won't be able to keep that promise, so I won't lie to you about it."

Teva had stepped back from the projection in surprise as it dropped to its knees right in front of her. Oh, that was too weird, too reminiscent of a marriage proposal. She dodged back a little more, and stepped on the leather part of her tall boots collapsed on the floor.

"You might be the one to trigger me like what happened today, but it could also be something as simple as seeing something on some billboard somewhere. You _can't_ hold yourself responsible for it. It's not you. Let me say that again. It's _not you._"

'Are you sure?' she wanted to ask. Hope started springing up within her like the first tentative shoots of a plant. Teva ruthlessly squashed that atrophied romanticism.

"It's not me either. I thought it was, but I can't blame myself for it any more than you can." That thought hadn't really occurred to him until now, and saying it out loud like that startled him a little. For some reason it also put more resolve in him, and he pushed forward.

"Do you know what _is_ your fault?" Brandon went on to say.

_Oh shit, here it comes._ She braced herself for the final hurt, for him to leave her metaphorically eviscerated.

"This morning I was sitting on the couch thinking about my future. My future! I wasn't supposed to have plans for that. Now I kind of want to and I have no fucking clue what to do with myself. How dare you make me have to think about life goals and shit. I mean, what the hell, Teva? Giving a man his life back like that. You...you know what? You were absolutely right. You're a terrible person, fucking up all my grand drugged-out suicide plans." He made his face look mock annoyed as he got up of the ground. "Yup, everything is _so_ much worse now because of you. I have all this food in my house that I'm going to have to eat, bubble bath that smells like caramel apple that I have to use up, money that I clearly have to spend on god-knows-what because _somebody_ will be mad at me if I go blow it on drugs again, and I can't have that, my car needs a bath still, you're going to make me wash my neighbors Tupperware, and I hate doing fucking dishes. You left me with dishes, Teva! How dare you?"

Somewhere in the middle of all that, she realized that he wasn't actually mad, wasn't going to leave her holding her own heart in her hands. Relief washed through her, leaving her laughing weakly, a hand clapped over her mouth to cover the tremulous smile forming on her face. She was getting all watery-eyed again, but for a vastly different reason. That stupid metaphorical hope-plant started growing again. Idiotic plant metaphor, she wished she'd never thought of it in the first place.

He dropped the ruse and softened his tone. "You're worried about your baggage dragging me down? Really? I don't see how that could even be possible when I was already at the bottom of the lake with cement shoes tied to my feet and everything, and you pulled me up to the surface. _You_ did. And you did it better than any 'professional' ever could when I was a kid. In fact, I kind of wish Nate had met someone like you. He'd still be with me today if he had, and I don't doubt that for a second. I _do _need you to stay with me for a while, Teva, as my friend or my lover or my girlfriend, however that plays out, because I really, honestly don't know how to get through a single day without you right now, and I'm pretty certain I still won't be able to get through a night. Leaving me now isn't going to do me any favors, I can damn well guarantee it, and I'm going to be bold enough to say that it isn't doing you any either, because I think you need me too. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, or to move in with me permanently, or to tell me that you love me, nothing as pressuring at that. I'm just asking you to stay, please, for just a little longer until both our heads are screwed on a little straighter. Even a guardian angel needs saving sometimes, so let me return the favor a little bit."

Shit. Really? She didn't know, wasn't sure what to say. It was a good thing Brandon wasn't actually right in front of her just then, because she'd probably stick her foot in her mouth and her head up her ass. Yes, simultaneously, which was both impressive and probably fatal. She'd just be a big ball of formerly-Feral.

The expression on the Brandon-projection lightened a little into a faint smile. "Then you can go back home feeling just a little more whole, like we both were somebody else's hero. Plus," he laughed, "we just spent a lot of money on that food, and it's going to go bad before I can get through it all. Help a guy out a little, huh?"

There was a noise off to one side, and he turned to see a couple guys at the edge of the parking lot looking hungrily at his car. He shook his head. Airport motels - they always brought out the freaks thinking they could prey on unsuspecting tourists. "Really, guys? The sun's not even all the way down yet. You're really going to do this before it gets dark?"

As they pulled out weapons, he let out a long sigh.

"Feral, I hate to ruin my little moment here, but I'm right under your window with two guys aiming to steal my car, and of course I left my piece in the glove box. You know I'm stupid enough to get shot over this hunk of metal, and I think I've already met my quota for bullet holes for the month, so if you could find it within yourself to save my sorry ass one more time, I'd really appreciate it. Then maybe we can kiss and makeup or whatever, and you can come home, or I can come up there and spend the night, but I'm not going to stop pestering you until you at least stop thinking that you're doomed to drag me down, so you might as well talk to me. And...now would be a pretty good time for that."

Brandon's hand slowly fingered the knife strapped under his pants leg on the opposite side from where the guys were approaching, glad he had been sitting on the hood with his knees drawn up like he was so he could reach the thing. Not like they could take the car without him being in it anyway, so he wasn't necessarily fighting to protect _it_. What he was afraid of was that they'd get annoyed enough to shoot _him_ when he refused to give them the codes. And that would be just a great fucking ending to a great fucking day.

She snapped out of her stupor. Now there was a situation where she actually knew what to do. Hurriedly, Teva zipped on her boots, grabbed her guns, and stepped out onto the balcony, surveying the situation from above.

She flicked the safety off, aimed a muzzle at both of the would-be car thieves, and cleared her throat.

They glanced up at her, clearly stunned by either her appearance seemingly from nowhere, or from the fact that she actually had the balls to pull weapons on them in broad daylight, in full view of the motel office. Teva wondered idly if the tranny was going to call the fuzz.

"Boys, back up," she drawled in a friendly tone, "That's my ride."

The smile that lit up his face at that was probably bright enough to overpower the sun, and he completely forgot about the knife he had been slowly trying to work out from its sheath. She was stunning up there on the balcony, pointing her guns at those fuckers' heads, threatening them for him. The best part was that she was smiling too.

_Was_smiling, until the hotel clerk came bursting out of his office all pissed off and demanding to know what was going on. The sudden movement and noise acted like a firecracker going off behind a herd of cattle. Chaos ensued.

One of the guys swung his gun up at the clerk. Ghost shouted at the tranny to get down while simultaneously rolling off the side of his hood. The other guy reacted to _that_ movement and aimed his gun at Ghost. Feral responded in kind by firing both her weapons, dropping the would-be thieves without killing them. The clerk, surprisingly, got back up and began shouting obscenities at the downed thieves, pulling a gun of his own to aim it at the two who had apparently hit his parking lot before, and _that_apparently had royally pissed him off. Seeing him coming, the guys responded to the new threat and turned their aim back in the clerk's direction, and then there were shots fired from the tranny's gun, the thieves' guns, and Feral's guns all at nearly the same time.

Ghost stood up in anger as the noise cleared and it appeared there wouldn't be any more shooting. "I swear to fucking Christ, if anyone shot my car I'm stabbing my knife in their face, I don't care _who_it is!"

Quickly glancing up at Feral to make sure she was okay - of course she was, no one had been aiming at _her_, after all - he ignored everyone else so he could walk around the side of his car in search of bullet holes.

"You'd stab a knife in my face?" Feral called down from above.

"No, you don't count," he responded, flashing her a smile once he was satisfied that Rena hadn't suffered any ill-effects from the brief gun fight.

She laughed at him at that before sarcastically biting out, "That's romantic."

"Just call me Romeo," he shrugged, thinking the analogy even more appropriate as he stared up at his girl.

Their moment was once again interrupted by the clerk, who was holding a hand to his bleeding shoulder. The man approached Ghost and looked him up and down appreciatively, causing a little shudder to run up Brandon's spine that he refrained from acting upon. "Look, honey, I'm all for wooing your mistress on the balcony, but the cops will probably be here soon. Unless you two want to get caught up in the red tape, I'd suggest you both leave. Call it a thanks for helping me take down these shitheads. They've been preying on my guests for weeks."

"Thank you," Brandon said with sincerity, shaking the man's hand as he turned back up to Teva. "Come on, Juliet, your chariot awaits."

Laughing, Feral ducked into the motel room, and grabbed her stuff, then ran down the stairs, feeling a little better after having slept off the weakness she incurred on the ride down to the motel in the first place. "Can you clear me out of the register?" she asked the clerk.

"You're already gone, honey," the man replied.

With a little grin and a nod of thanks, Teva slipped into the passenger seat of Ghost's car, tossing her stuff in the back, and raised a sardonic brow at Brandon. "If you ever suggest we poison ourselves to be together forever, you're done. I don't do that tragic love bullshit." Ironic, considering the situation they'd just come out of.

Brandon laughed as he put the car in reverse, and reached over to squeeze her hand. "No problem."

She smiled back, and settled a little more comfortably in her seat. A few minutes later, Teva asked curiously, "So does this mean we've had our first fight?"

His first thought was a flashback through their day, how depressing it all had been and yet still a little fun at the same time. If it could be called a fight, with no actual words spouted off in anger, it was the best worst one he'd ever had. It'd certainly hurt the worst of any "fight" he'd ever had.

His second thought was...

He bit his lip and a little whimpery sound came out of his mouth that was pure 'I'm _so_ tempted, but I can't!' Glancing over at her as he drove, he almost whined, "I _really_want to follow that question with 'only if it means we get to have first fight make-up sex,' but I haven't had any meds since this morning, and I kind of landed wrong when I rolled off the car." As an involuntarily punctuation to the statement, he winced slightly as he shifted the car into gear. "But I'd be game for very gentle, warm, caramel apple bubble bath make-out time? ...After I...clean up the glass."

With an apologetic cringe, he revealed his hidden left hand that still had the small wash towel wrapped around it. "Mirrors and I have a tendency to get into arguments..."

Teva took one look at his hand, shook her head, and said, "Hey, I'm one to talk. My coping methods include icy silence, violence, and binge drinking." It probably wasn't the rebuke he'd been expecting, but oh well. She just didn't have the energy to work herself up to it. Plus, it wasn't like she didn't care; she just didn't see the point in making a big deal out of it. Maybe he'd cut her some slack on her own coping methods later on.

She was hesitant as she slid her hand over his on the gear shift, but his fingers spread a little wider, allowing her to contour their shapes together. "I've got first aid stuff in my bag still. I'll patch you up when we get back." Glancing over almost shyly, she saw the small grin curving Brandon's lips.

The city flew by them as they drove, and Teva slowly became accustomed to the intimacy of her action, feeling the tiny ligaments move under her palm as Brandon shifted the car from gear to gear. Finally, she turned, offering him a brilliant grin at a stop light, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I don't mind make-up make-outs," she admitted as she settled back in the bucket seat. "Honestly, I'm a little worn out too from all the walking and stuff today. So what say you to a bath, dinner, and maybe a film?" All disgustingly normal, sickeningly domestic; the atrophied romantic in her was all aflutter. Lifting a brow, she wondered what Brandon was going to say. Maybe that was too corny, too couple-y. Were they even a couple? She didn't know. Neither did he, apparently.

Stop making problems where there aren't any, she told herself firmly.

It was a funny thing, the heart, Brandon thought. It had hurt so bad all day long, and now that things were righting themselves again, it _still_ hurt, but in the best way possible. He guessed that's what made people cry when they were overwhelmed with happy feelings, something he _never_did because he was a guy and that was breaking some sort of guy code, but he might've right at that moment if he were allowed to. It was a feeling he wanted to hang onto forever, and the fear of suddenly losing it again over something innocently stupid drove him to pull the car over again.

"I'm not freaking out, don't worry," he was quick to reassure her as he turned slightly in his seat and squeezed both her hands. "Yes, I _definitely_want the bath, dinner, movie night. In fact, I can't think of anything I'd like more than to go on an actual date with you to the theater, and there's a real drive-up one on the edge of town so we'll get some blankets and put the top down and watch whatever you want to watch, and I'm buying because I intend on spending as much of this money you dropped into my account without my permission on you as I possibly can. Don't argue that." He gave her a quick smile and continued. "But I think maybe I should clear some things up right now because you haven't gotten to that last journal yet, and I want you to be ready for certain things so we don't have another misunderstanding."

"Brandon, you don't have to-" she started, but he cut her off.

"Yes, I do. I want you to know what might be a trigger, and I want you to be prepared for things I may have said in the journal that you might think you're responsible for, but you aren't, so if I tell you now then nothing will be a surprise, okay? So first, in case you're worried about it, I _should_ be fine in the tub. I know I didn't do so hot with that the other morning on my own, but I'm pretty sure since you're the only person on the planet that squeezed my ass without causing me to freak out a little bit over it that we'll be fine. I'll hold to my promise that if I start to get uncomfortable with anything, I'll tell you." She nodded at him, so he continued. "Second, I probably don't have to tell you this because you're smart enough to figure it out on your own, and you don't really come off as the freaky, dominatrix type anyway, but I don't do things that ever involve me being on my hands and knees with my sex partner coming at me from behind. I _will_freak out. And not to sound crass, but I won't do you doggie-style either, so if you're into that, it's not happening."

He had to stop and laugh and for a minute, more of a nervous laughter than anything else. "Laying out sex rules. I sound like the most perverted prude ever right now. Sorry, I only started there in case you were worried about being in the tub. I'll move on now."

Rubbing the back of his head for a second as he gathered his thoughts together, he sucked in a little breath as he further explained himself. "Um...the implants. I had a little freak-out in the bar when all the girls kept giving me _that_ look, and I knew it was because of the pheromones, and I couldn't handle it. I was overly drunk, and it was yet another one of those times when I woke up in the clinic because apparently I tried to cut the implants out on my own. Obviously that didn't go so hot. So I got them removed, went out to celebrate, got the call that my uncle was up for his parole hearing, took the craziest drugs I've ever put in my body, and lost a complete week of my life doing...something violent based on the shape I was in when I got out of it. It scares me a little bit - no, it scares me a _lot_that I have no clue who I hurt or maybe even killed during that week..."

A squeeze of his hand brought him back from where his thoughts had been trailing off to. He hadn't even realized that he'd started to drift away, once again trying to grasp onto some glimmer of memory from that time. One of these days he was certain whatever had happened during that week would come back to bite him...unless maybe whoever he'd beaten on had truly deserved it. Maybe he would try to look at it that way from now on, just to ease his conscience.

Clearing his throat he kept going. "I...really kind of hate healing magic. I play it off without a hitch because you have to get used to it being a 'runner, but you have _no_ idea how glad I was that you stayed in the clinic with me for the sessions on my lung. I don't like how it feels; brings me back to Lonnie every time I have to have it done. I like _your_ magic, though. _Love _your magic, almost as much as I lo-" He ducked his head as he cut himself off. Was he really about to say that? Was it even possible to feel that strongly when it was this soon in the rela...tion...ship? Could he officially call it that now? He wanted to, but was she there yet? "Anyway, your magic feels more natural so it doesn't freak me out."

He sped ahead before her brain could linger on his slip any longer than it needed to. "What else? I hate it when people call me 'son' because Lonnie used to do that...or 'pretty' for that matter. I didn't like it when people called sex 'fun time' because he used to say that too, but I'm already editing that in my brain because it's kind of fun with you - and now I'm back to the sex. Sorry. Um, you're going to see that it was because of what happened at Horizon that I got pushed over the edge, but I don't want you to blame yourself for that. Red was the one that brought me in on the 'run in the first place, you never gave me any reason to think that you...wanted me...like that, and that last day when I was trying to apologize? You didn't say anything wrong then either, nothing that should've made me rush off to the bar for my first drunken asshole night like I did. You were kind of the catalyst to my downward spiral, yes, but you didn't _cause_it, so when you get to those parts in the book I don't want you to feel guilty, okay? Oh, and when I tried to go after Lonnie he had me shot a couple times, and then kind of raped me again, which is why he thinks I'm dead."

That last sentence came out in a quick tumble, and so casual that it almost didn't seem like a big deal as he moved on. "So, do you have any triggers or things you think I should know about, since we're sharing our burdens and everything? Or is your stuff all non-crazy-person-triggery where I can just read about it in your book when you feel like letting me?"

"I, um..." Teva blew out a breath, and offered Ghost a sheepish smile. "You talk a lot, so let me just take a minute and digest. I've got to formulate what I want to say. Next time maybe you could breathe a little between topics?" She winked just to let him know that she was joking. Mostly.

His uncle had just raped him again. That was the first thing out of that tangle of words that sunk in. Holy fuck, that had to have been even more traumatic for him, being made so powerless as an adult. Subconsciously, she squeezed his hands, then mentally shook off the worry. Brandon didn't want her pity, which was good 'cause she kinda sucked at giving it.

"I don't..." she hesitated briefly, trying to think of a good way to phrase it, "...have any _particular_desires that require satiation in bed. I've experimented a lot, but it's not...like it is for some people, where that's the only way they can have sex." Grinning, Teva said to him, "For me, kink has a time and a place, and there're limits on it."

Again, she stalled out, biting her lip as a troubled look flashed across her face. Should she...? Why the fuck not? He'd already told her the worst of himself. For a second, her hands tensed like she was about to pull away. It was an instinctive reaction meant to protect herself, but he had no way of knowing that. Stopping herself, she left her hands where they were in his. "Um, look...I wouldn't ever ask you to fuck me doggie-style. I didn't..." A quick flash of her eyes upward, like a panicked animal, interrupted the sentence. "I didn't write this down in the book. I've never told anybody this. If you ever repeat it or make a big deal out of it, I will drop kick you so hard, you'll have internal injuries." Teva took a breath, ignoring the suddenly anxious look on Brandon's face, glancing over his shoulder at the whizzing of the vehicles passing them on the road. "A couple years ago, I got date-raped."

The hands on hers tightened almost painfully. She threw Brandon an annoyed look. "No big deal, remember?" she drawled in warning.

He loosened his grip obligingly.

"Anyway, I don't remember much, as you'd expect, but I remember that he was...behind me, and then I woke up with those marks on my lower back." Teva shrugged nonchalantly, attempting to play it off like it was no big deal. "So I don't like that. Scarification _or_doggie-style." Plowing on ahead, she continued with, "I also hate it when guys do that thing where they like...force you down while you're sucking them off. That is a serious annoyance for me, and it's gotten worse over the years. I threw up on a guy's dick once because of those shenanigans. And if you read the part about how I tortured a man to death, you'll know why it's gotten worse. So don't do that. I will unhesitatingly use my teeth on you. It's like an automatic reaction, I can't even control it."

Humming for a moment, she tried to think of anything else. "Oh yeah, one more thing. Pain resistance applies in all situations. So if you sink your teeth in me, and are worried that you're like, hurting me or whatever, nine times out of ten, you're not. I don't react to pain the same way most people do, so stuff like teeth and nails actually feels pretty good to me. Just, you know, don't make me look like I'm part leopard. That's so déclassé."

"What else? What else?" she mumbled. "There was a thing... Oh!" Teva raised her eyebrows. "For the record, I have never nor will I ever refer to sex as 'fun time.' It's either sex or fucking...or making love, which I have never used anywhere but in my own head until this very moment." Detaching one of her hands, she gave him a thumbs up and a corny grin. "So you're safe!"

"And in conclusion, Mr. I Change Topics Way Too Quickly And Don't Let You Get A Word In Edgewise, my magic _is_ natural. I'm not putting anything _in_you; I just work with what's already there. Also, you should probably never call it magic in front of a magician. They get really touchy about us adepts stealing their niche. Magicians have a tendency to think that all magic comes with sparks and bangs, exterior manifestations. Most of them don't consider adept skills to be magic."

With another thoughtful pause, Teva playfully tapped her bottom lip, feigning deep thought. "No," she shook her head, "No, that's it. This concludes my speech." She winked at Brandon, and sat back in her seat, asking, "So can we go now? I'm kinda hungry, and I get cranky when I'm not fed promptly."

After a second of silence where clearly he was warring with himself on saying more about the things she had just revealed to him, he smiled at her. "Food! Yes," Brandon responded, pulling the car back out into traffic.

She hadn't made a big deal about anything he had said, even if she probably wanted to on some things, so it'd be best if he followed suit...especially when she had very specifically told him not to make a big deal in regards to the thing he was making the biggest deal about in his head. If date-rape guy had a name and a face, the guy wouldn't be needing the first for much longer because Brandon would make so much bloody pulp out of the second before slowly killing him with the sicko's own kink. Maybe he should've mentioned that too, the whole thing about being a little overly protective in a violent way at times...

Nah, he already had. That's what the warning on his SIN said, after all, a warning that wasn't entirely inaccurate. Plus, there was that whole thing with Switch at Horizon. Yeah, telling her about it now would just be a repeat telling of something she already knew.

The scars were something he had to bite his tongue about though. She didn't like scarification, yet she kept those on her for some reason. Why? Keeping battle scars was one thing, like a badge of honor even if the circumstances in which they were received royally sucked. But to keep something like that, something that had to remind her almost daily of such an act of violation? It was something that was hard for him to understand. Then again, she did say before that that's exactly what her scars were about - reminders to play it smarter. Maybe that's all it was, a hard lesson learned, something that just boiled down to a bodily warning saying, "Hey, Teva, be a little more careful who you run off to bed with."

Still, he couldn't do it. Scars weren't his thing in general, even if getting them removed meant he had to voluntarily sit through a healing. He erased every single one, honor badge or not, relying on his books and his own memory to keep the lessons in mind. Of course, his specialty in regards to his line of work required that he be able to blend in with any crowd when duty called for it, and scars had a tendency to hinder that ability. They could break the illusion for some people that he belonged in their social circle.

Maybe he'd keep the two lower ones on his chest this time though. There was neither shame nor a lesson that needed to be learned there, just marks that he earned by doing something completely selfless, dying for the sake of saving the person he cared about most. Only a sense of pride in himself, and thankful relief for what those wounds kept in this world came at the heels of reflecting on those scars. Yeah, he would keep those, social circles be damned. If he were ever in a situation where taking off his shirt was required for a job and he thought they might pose a problem, he could always just cover them with makeup, or come up with some story about getting mugged. No one would question that for a second, not in these times.

He was being too quiet now, he realized. Going from speech-of-the-year to dead silent after she'd taken her turn was probably a little unsettling for her, but it was something she'd sort of have to get used to. For someone whose "gift" it was to essentially talk his way into just about any group, he wasn't honestly that good at it in real life situations where he had to just be himself. When he had something to say he got it all off his chest at once, then it was done and he could retreat back inside his head where it was safer to deal with the repercussions of his words.

Feeling like he needed to say _something_ though, he half-quipped, half said in total seriousness, "Not to come off sounding grateful at all for my...extenuating circumstances, but admittedly I walked away from that with some unique perspectives on a lot of things that guys don't usually get. The 'forceful sucking off' thing happens to be one of them so," he likewise gave her a thumbs up and a wink, "you're safe! And so is my dick, apparently. Castration via teeth sounds like it'd be very painful."

* * *

**TBC…**


	12. Chapter 12

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Twelve

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: A date. It's so disgustingly cute, you'll puke rainbows. Also, the songs used in this chapter are real songs. The first one is "Habibi (boom boom boom)" by Dorlene Love, and the second is "Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello. Clearly, we own neither.

Also, come to The Beta Branch. We have cookies…or something. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

Days passed, sliding into a week, and then more. Sometimes she felt so blissfully normal that it scared her. Occasionally, Teva sat around waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it felt a little more like Chicken Little going 'the sky is falling;' there was really nothing wrong, it was just all in her head.

Brandon was developing some pretty good methods for anticipating when and what was going to freak her out, and was gradually trying out different tactics to snap her out of her dizzying thought process. Most often that involved making her laugh, but there was the one time that he'd taken one at look at her and seen the storm brewing on her face; he'd coaxed her into bed, wrapped himself around her, and just laid there for awhile until the worry eased out of her. With his lips behind her ear, he'd whispered, "See? We're fine."

Eventually they did talk about a lot of different things: why she kept the scars, all about Tamsin, and more benign things like favorite films, foods, places to be, and why Rumanian was the best language for cursing. A fierce debate was had over a range of topics including whether or not marmalade was a plot by the French to make everyone die slowly by eating bugs. Brandon said yes; Teva argued the opposition, not because she particularly believed that, but because it was fun to make Brandon defend his positions. She also happened to _like_marmalade, thank you very much.

Brandon began bearing witness to the whirlwind that Teva became when she was completely healthy. She took up running again, and as soon as she was able, exercising, and yoga as well. One morning he woke to find that she had rearranged his living room to clear a space for practicing fighting moves. Then he began to notice how healthy-Teva didn't exactly eat as much as she should unless prompted, and started making snacks at periodic times of the day because he figured out if he put it in front of her, she'd eat it without seeming to realize it.

"I need to find a good firing range," Teva piped up one day. "Where do you go?"

That became their second date, the first being the night at the drive-in where they'd spent almost the entire film cracking jokes about the action movie they were watching. Given a choice between rom-com, something overwhelmingly intense that was pretty much an hour and a half of flashing lights and loud music, and the action film, they'd gone for the lesser of the evils. This, of course, prompted Teva to start ranting about the sad state of Hollywood. "If you want to see good films anymore, you have no choice but to go with foreign titles. I mean, look at this crap, they're not even holding those knives right!"

They did other stuff too, couple things, like going out for dinner, and holding hands as they walked through The Grove. The day Teva admitted she hadn't yet been to the see the ocean there, with the exception of the exchange at the boardwalk, Brandon insisted they spend a day at the beach. That required shopping for a swimsuit on her part, and maybe she let him assist; maybe they'd also spent some time making out in the changing stall when the fitting room clerk left the area to return unwanted items back to the racks.

She felt like a very lazy housecat all of the sudden, fattened up on tuna fish, and accustomed to getting petted frequently. Contentment made her smile and laugh a lot more, and when they only had one more freak-out from Brandon in that time, she started thinking weird aberrations of thought like 'maybe I _can_do this.' It was quite a change.

Teva had her legs looped over the back of the couch, and her back on the cushion, essentially sitting upside down, one morning while she browsed the music headlines. There were a couple bands playing tonight that she was pretty interested in seeing, and she was considering asking Bran if he'd be up for a concert. One was the Gypsy-punk band, Esmeralda, and the other was a blues-revivalist by the name of Kid Stowe. They were at different locations, but after plugging in the addresses, Teva figured out they were only a ten minute walk from each other. There'd be time to see Kid Stowe play at eight o' clock, and still get down to see Esmeralda at ten.

Maybe she could go shopping for a new outfit to wear, Teva thought with giddy delight. After all, the nicest clothes she'd packed had been the red pants and black top she wore the week before. Hell, maybe she'd even wear heels. _Voluntarily_. She did have really nice legs, and the heels made her calves look _amazing_.

Brandon came out of the bathroom in a towel, and strode over to her, leaning down to give her a little kiss. "Mm, morning," she purred when he broke away. "Soycaf's already made."

"Thank you," he said as he walked into the kitchen, and she took a second to admire the view. Even from a skewed perspective his ass looked good. That was just unfair.

"Hey, so, what are you doing tonight?"

With a mug in his hand, Brandon turned, his eyebrows winging up. "Why?" A little smirk was tugging one side of his mouth up. "I think I'm doing whatever it is you want to do."

"Up for a concert?"

"Up for planning a murder?" he countered.

She grinned. "The answer is usually yes, but back to the concert. I require entertainment, alcohol, and dancing!"

"Mm," Brandon winced as he took a sip of his too-hot soycaf. Apparently 'already made' meant 'just now finished.' He poured more of his vanilla-cinnamon creamer into the cup to cool it down some and shot Teva a _don't you dare even go there_look as she smirked at him. She thought his creamers were girly-flavored. Well, so was his body wash and now bubble bath, so he didn't care. He liked sweets, smell included, and he wasn't giving them up just because his girlfriend made fun of him about it. Besides, she'd probably keep her lips zipped about it later if she wanted to partake in the little shared gift he'd gone out and picked up for them the other morning when she was still asleep.

He'd hidden the gift in one of his little secret cubby holes, and now wondered if she'd gone on a scavenger hunt to find them all yet. She knew about the ones in his closet, had seen him getting into his weapons enough times not to. There were a couple he'd had to tell her about back when she first came over to rid his place of any drug stashes.

She may have discovered the one under the bathroom sink because that panel was a slightly different color than the rest of the cupboard. He'd meant to stain it so it matched, but just never got around to it since he didn't use that one much for anything anyway. It used to just be another stash for his journals back when he'd hidden them everywhere, just like the ones in the backs of some of the kitchen cabinets.

One of those Teva didn't know about - he'd built it into the floor of the cabinet beneath the slide-out trash receptacle. You had to actually take the bin off the sliders to reach it, but it was worth it to hide the things that were most valuable to him. One of those things was his cousin's class ring, another was a memory chip that held Lonnie's arrest report...and then there was the bag of frosted animal cookies that he was hoarding because Teva would eat them all if she knew they existed. He doubted she had found the one up high in the coat closet, the one that housed a box of memories that he didn't really want but couldn't quite throw away either - his own arrest report, the evaluations done by his therapists over the years, Nate's suicide note and news article in regards to the "gruesome death," the report about the accident that caused the deaths of the parents that he barely remembered having - all things that were important in his life but kept them somewhere out of his way.

There was also one more cubby in the bathroom behind the medicine cabinet that Teva probably hadn't discovered, as it required pressing a hidden latch on the underside of the cabinet to spring the entire thing open. That's where he'd stashed his gift so it'd be within easy access when the time came to bust it out.

"I can do a concert," he smiled as he walked over to sit beside her, and purposely wafted his girly flavored drink over her face. She smacked him in the leg for it. He retaliated by setting down his cup on the table and blowing a hard puff of air right against her tummy where her shirt had ridden up. The resulting raspberry-esque sound effect made her squeak like a little girl and laugh at the same time before she smacked him again.

"Ow, that one hurt," he whined as he rubbed the red hand print on his arm.

"Good, you deserved it," she shot back with a smile, then reached her arms up for him. "Come here," she ordered.

She pulled him down and kissed the red mark - kissing owies to make them better like mothers did for their children had been on ongoing joke they developed in relation to Brandon's spit pills. The funny thing was that nine times out of ten, it actually worked. _Psych thing,_he surmised as she moved on to kiss the two round scars on his chest like he'd done on hers that first time they'd had sex.

It was just yesterday that he'd gone in to get the one from Skeeter removed, and she went with him just because she knew he'd feel better about the magic process if she was there. He'd had it done a zillion times before, went to the same place to get it done so it'd always be familiar too, but having her there to hold his hand made all the difference in his comfort levels while it was getting done. Seeing her slight grin when he told the mage to leave the other two scars alone was worth it too.

She'd helped him through one other episode last week, as well. They'd been watching some stupid crime drama on the trid, mostly just relaxing and using it as background entertainment while they lounged around. A scene came up that involved the victim walking through a park at night. The murder went down as a double-shot in the stomach, throwing Brandon instantly back to that moment in the park right before Lonnie defiled him again. He was in even less control than he'd been in back in the car, suffering from one of his full-on, detailed flashbacks like the ones he'd had all the time before Teva came along and saved him. Things had gone from sitting on the couch, to suddenly lying in the grass with his uncle hovering over him, to sitting on the floor behind the couch with his face held firm in her hands as she talked him back to reality.

She didn't ask him any details, and he didn't offer to give any. They simply went back to the bedroom in silence where she sat up against the headboard and let him curl up nearly on top of her, his head pillowed against her chest, and she'd held him tight until he'd fallen asleep.

The following day they kept the trid off and spent a little bit of down time quietly reading. He had finished thumbing through the rest of his drugged-out nonsense pages, shaking his head at most of them, before he found a pen and wrote in the journal for the first time since he'd left to go get clean. It was the first entry since Horizon where he'd actually been thinking clearly, and spoke of better things to come. He had smiled at Teva as he'd immortalized her in metaphor as the one who'd saved him, and could only hope he was doing as well at relieving her of some of her pains and insecurities as she was doing for him.

As she now used the leverage of her arms hooked around the back of his neck to move from kissing his chest up to his lips, he wrapped his own arms around her and pulled her across him so that she was almost sitting on his lap, giving her a crushing hug that turned the kiss into a light grunt. He laughed, gave her a kiss for real, and asked, "So who are we seeing, what are you drinking, what are you _wearing_, and how drunk is too drunk that my good boy, sober self has to put you to bed instead of helping you _out_ of whatever you're wearing?"

Turning slightly so that she was sitting a little more comfortable, her legs having been tugged off the back of the couch, Teva started almost absentmindedly kissing Brandon's neck. "I actually want to see two different performances tonight." Pulling back to stare, she added wryly, "Don't judge me. I couldn't decide between them."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Brandon chuckled, and tugged her a little closer.

She responded by moving to straddle him, hooking her arms lazily over his shoulder. "Well, anyway, one of them is this blues guitarist, Kid Stowe. He is...pretty much the most amazing contemporary guitarist this side of the Mississippi, and one of the most underrated as well. He's not big into image or promotion, and has actually publicly derided the mainstream music industry. Very cool, low-key stuff. He's playing at this little club here called Blowfish, and there is actually a restaurant attached so we could do dinner there too, if you want. That's at eight o' clock."

"Mm-hm, okay. And the other one?" Bran wanted to know.

"Esmeralda, gypsy-punk rock band, playing a few blocks away at The Romper Room. It's...highly energetic music. Combines typical punk rock instrumentation and lyrical styles with Romani folk rock, so you'll hear lots of fiddle, accordion, and percussion, and it'll use some typical beats found in Rom folk music as well. Good for dancing. _Great_for dancing, actually. Sometimes they may throw in more electronic instrumentation. It kinda depends. Last I heard their accordion player had broken her arm, and was taking a hiatus from the band until it healed; that's when they'll bring in the electro stuff to make up for it. Otherwise it's kind of a throw-back. Super fun stuff. Makes you wanna light a bonfire, and spin in circles around it, or," she tipped her head thoughtfully, "maybe that's just me and my inner pyro. Oh, and that starts at ten."

"Sooo...?" Teva wanted to know, poking his shoulder. "You up for a mini club-crawl?"

After a moment of mock deliberation, Brandon nodded and offered her a crooked smile. "Yeah, sounds like fun."

"Yay!" she chirped, and squeezed him in a quick hug. "You're spoiling me, letting me have my way like this all the time. Please continue to do so; I'm relishing every second of it." Laughing unapologetically, Teva brushed her _something_'s nose with her own in one of those insanely adorable eskimo kisses.

"So now, let's see...I have to go shopping for something to wear, because I didn't really pack for any events like this. And if I start telling people 'you don't _need_that; I'll take that for you'," Teva drawled in an exaggerated manner, "and stealing their drinks, that is when I am done for the night. One drink past that point, and my head is in the toilet; then I usually insist on sleeping on the bathroom floor."

Brandon's shoulders shook with laughter underneath her light hold, and he nodded. "Got it."

"That's happy-drunk mode though. If I get angry-drunk, I start picking fights. I don't anticipate that occurring, but for your sake, I'll stay away from the whiskey. Shit brings out my angry-drunk, like, _fast_. But," Teva added, "I'm not planning on drinking that much, so hopefully there will be no pouring of the drunkie into bed."

"That means there's a good chance I'll be helping you out of what you're wearing?" he asked hopefully.

"Fairly good."

"Scale of one to ten?"

"I'd say a nine point five. If there's vodka, we may not even make it as far as the apartment," Teva winked, and chortled deviously.

Brandon put his hands on her waist and smiled at her deviously. "Well then, I guess I'll just have to be in charge of your drinks so I make sure you _always_have vodka." In a fast, smooth motion, he flipped her onto her back on the couch and gave her another kiss. "I have to get dressed." She gave him a pouty look. "I know, I know, heartbreaking, but sad to say clothes are generally required to go out shopping."

As he got up to leave, one of her hands reached out to snatch the towel from around his waist. He couldn't even get out a, "Hey!" before she'd twirled it up and snapped him with it down low on the back of his thigh. "Oh, that's it," he snarled and came after her. They ran around the couch a couple times with her brandishing the towel-weapon like a pro until he decided up and over would be the best approach. She nimbly dodged out of the way, leading him on a lap that would take them right past the front door. A knock came just as Teva stepped in front of it, and both of them froze. He knew by the look on her face that she was going to open it, and despite his shaking his head and waving of his arms, she had that evil glint in her eyes.

"Shit," he hissed as he pressed his back up against the wall so that the door would hide him once it swung open.

"Oh, Sarah, buenos dias," came the gentle, happy, accented voice of his _little old lady neighbor, who he was now standing inches away from stark fucking naked!_"Is Brandon in?"

_Say no, say no, say no._

"Buenos dias, Mrs. Reyes. Yes, he's right here."

_Oh my god!_

Keeping himself firmly pressed against the wall, he called out, "H-hi, Mrs. Reyes. Is there...is there something you need?"

He heard feet start to shuffle and in a panic he lunged forward a step, just peeking his head around the door so she could see him without _seeing_ him. She was the type who liked to look at a person's face when having a conversation with them, manners bred into her from generations of polite family traditions. Of _course_she wasn't going to let him get away with talking at her through a door.

She arched a critical eyebrow at him. "You look flushed." He about died when she moved closer and put her hand to his cheek and forehead. Feral was standing behind her looking fit to bust with laughter, but wiped the humor off her face when she was in line of Mrs. Reyes' sight again. "No fever. Are you feeling okay? You shouldn't work yourself too hard after being so sick, you could have a relapse."

The old woman turned a slight grin on Teva and gave her a sly wink. "That means _you_shouldn't work him so hard either."

_Oh, sweet Jesus, just kill me now._

Feral let go of her laughter and answered with a polite, "Yes, Mrs. Reyes." Yeah, polite. While still hanging onto his towel behind her back.

He cleared his throat to turn the woman's attention back his way, hoping to just get this nightmare moment over with. "Mrs. Reyes, was there something you..."

"Oh, yes, yes, lo siento," she said as she fished down into her bag. "A package for you was delivered to my address by mistake yesterday. I had forgotten all about it until this morning. Here you go."

As she held it out, Brandon turned a pleading look at Teva. "Can you...take that, please?"

Before Feral could answer, Mrs. Reyes thrust the package further towards Ghost and rolled her eyes. "Dios mio, Brandon, I have been happily married longer than you have been alive, and Mr. Reyes did not wed himself a virgin. Whatever you have behind that door, trust me, I have seen it...and from what I can tell by the fit of your clothes, you have nothing to hide."

_OH MY GOD!_

"Thank you, Mrs. Reyes," he managed to get out as he reached a bare arm around to snatch at the package. She winked at him too as she handed it over, then shot another little smile at Teva.

"De nada," she answered with a little chuckle, then turned to walk away mumbling something in Spanish about young love.

Brandon slammed the door shut, his whole body practically red with embarrassment as Teva nearly fell on the floor laughing.

"I hope you know how dead you are right now," he threatened, and chucked the package off to the side as he came after her again. She made it to the bathroom and slammed the door in his face, locking it and continuing to hyperventilate with laughter from the safety of the other side. After a few seconds, Brandon couldn't help but see the humor in the situation too, and let out a few breathy chuckles of his own. "Just for that, I'm making you wear something disgustingly pink tonight."

If she had an answer for her punishment, it got lost in her tears of amusement.

* * *

The only thing disgustingly pink was her cheeks when Brandon insisted on opening doors for her all night. It was seriously freaking her out. She kept pausing just before they'd walk in anywhere as his hand reached for the handle, expecting him to just open the door and walk through it himself like a normal person, but that _wasn't what kept happening._ He'd pause, holding it open, and she would stare blankly for a second before the little hamster in the wheel started running again. "Oh!" she kept saying, and hustling through, shaking her head at her own apparent cluelessness in regards to social niceties.

Man, Teva had really been shacking up with the wrong guys all these years. Brandon had _manners_. _Real_ manners; _good ones._He held doors, and pulled out chairs, and put his napkin in his lap. It was adorable and unsettling all at the same time.

Dinner was pleasant enough. The food was good, the restaurant teeming with candlelight and sultry atmosphere, and after she'd stuffed herself with dessert and coffee, they slipped into the lounge for the performance. Brandon found them a table with a good view of the stage. It was one of those with a comfy booth seat on one side, and chairs on the other. By silent agreement, they both slid onto the bench seat, and Teva's hand curved over Brandon's thigh subconsciously as the section server bounced over to take their order, not at all liking the look in her eye as she subtly checked out Teva's date. _Mine_. Her red-painted lips _almost_lifted in a snarl.

A vodka martini for Teva, and a refill on Brandon's soda, then the show was starting. For awhile, she sat silently, mesmerized by the performance and the beauty of the music, the low, mournful tones, sometimes warbling in the air. Kid Stowe didn't always sing, but when he did his voice sounded much like a person would expect it to, raspy, deep, and somehow matter-of-fact in its presentation. The accompanists only played three songs out of the hour-long set list, but it never felt like the music was lacking without them. It was true blues music, stripped down to its barest essentials, and paying homage to the greats.

At one point, she started speaking quietly, whispering little facts about blues music, Kid's style of playing, and historical music factoids. "There are only a handful of people in the world now who can use this particular slide technique accurately," Teva murmured at one point, nodding to the man on the stage, her tone laden with awe.

Brandon grinned at her, and replied, "You sound like you want to have his babies."

"I kinda do," she chuckled. "They'd be really talented."

He laughed harder, tugging her close with his arm wrapped low around her back, and whispered teasingly in her ear, "He'll have to fight me for you."

Brandon brushed his lips over her bare shoulder, and she shivered pleasantly at both the sensation and possessiveness hidden in his gaze.

The dress she'd bought that night was a short, shiny tube dress, covered in sequins from one hem to the other. The bodice was silver, sliding into light gold toward the middle, and then a coppery color over her thighs. A little on the ostentatious side, some might say, but Teva pulled it off. She was tan from their day at the beach, and her short hair was brushed sleek and shiny. Dramatic, sparkly eyes, siren-red lips, and a pair dangerously spiked black patent peep-toes completed the look.

It had taken forever to find the right dress for what she needed to pull off that night. Brandon laughed frequently at the looks she made while combing through the clothing racks. Apparently, her disgust for some fashion statements was rather evident. By the time they got to the shoe department, her nerves were frayed, annoyed with the crying children, shark-like salespeople, and fucking pop-up ads; there were too many of those, and her comm was on passive mode!

Finally, she had to turn it off altogether, because she started getting nauseous and had to sit in the shoe department with her eyes closed, head in her hands for a few minutes until the feeling began to pass. "Don't rub my back," she commented quietly when Brandon sat next to her, reaching to do just that in a comforting way. He froze. "It makes me have to throw up more."

The remaining parts of the wardrobe were easy to find, but those weren't revealed until the walk to the club. Fishing one item out of the depths of her bag, Teva handed the purse to Brandon, saying, "Hold this for a sec."

He gave her a skeptical look.

"Oh, come on," she sighed, "It's not gonna kill you. Two minutes."

With an exaggerated sigh, he accepted the burden. "Two minutes. You're on the clock," Bran joked as they strolled down the sidewalk.

Shaking her head, Teva slipped on the halter-style vest over the dress, the black fabric a stark contrast with the glittery fabric beneath it.

"We're going to a rock club after," she'd explained patiently in the store. "I have to blend in somehow. Trust me, I'll look like an old-timey cigarette girl."

"Whatever you say," he'd shrugged, laughing at her quietly. Somewhere under that there was an unarticulated exasperated sigh of 'women.'

"Okay." Teva reached for her bag, and pulled a bowler hat out, popping it on at a rakish angle. "Now I'm a classy punk princess."

Brandon chuckled, and took her hand. "You looked fine before."

"I'd have stuck out like a sore thumb," she argued back as they fell in line for the queue to get into The Romper Room.

"But in a good way," he countered. "A sexy, sparkly way."

Snorting, she drawled, "Great. So if we lose each other just look for the human disco ball, right?"

He laughed at that, put his arm around her shoulders to give her a little squeeze, and informed her, "I have no intention of losing you."

The truth was that he was honestly a little afraid of exactly that. Not "losing her" in that sense of the word of losing her to another man over the course of night - he trusted her too much for that. He was literally a touch nervous about the two of them getting separated, and him finding himself standing in the middle of The Romper Room without his stronger other half. It was a club scene, a _real_ one in the flashy, dancy, party sense as opposed to the mellow, low-key atmosphere that Blowfish presented. He'd been to The Romper before, more than once...several times, in fact. There'd mostly likely be..._people _there, people he knew and not in the best of ways, people whose attention might be drawn to him tonight.

Roxy, the perky little Filipina with an overly aggressive attitude, would definitely be drawn to his choice of clothing if she were there. Dressed in a dark gold, paisley blouse with fine copper, silver, and black detail to match Teva's dress, worn with the top few buttons open to let his collar fold down over the black button-up, very thin silver pinstripe vest (complete with gold watch chain hanging out of the pocket); dark, coppery-brown slacks that disappeared into the top of a pair of loosely-tied black, combat-style dress boots; and a black porkpie fedora with a copper band, she'd be all over him if he looked like he was flying solo. She'd probably still be a big flirt even _with_Teva on his arm, but feisty as she was, she wouldn't put up the effort it would take to wrestle him from another woman's hold.

Nix, the smooth-talking Aztlanian who had a penchant for getting Ghost into trouble, would try to slip in and drag him off to some other venue in some darker part of the city. It'd be somewhere with a spark of appealing danger, exciting in a way that gave adrenaline junkies that thrill they so-often sought out, an adventure that Ghost was always drawn to participate in when he wasn't in his right mind. He was sober tonight though, which would annoy the shit out of Nix. The man would pester him endlessly if not for the fact that he clearly had a beautiful woman to tend to. Nix would see it as just that primal need for "nasty, fiery sex" instead of as a real relationship with real feelings involved, but that was fine with Brandon. It'd keep the man off his back.

And then there were the casual acquaintances, the ones that would pass him a joint or a hit if he were to wander off with them to the outside patio, and in such a social party atmosphere he was just as likely to take said offering as a person would who was trying to quit smoking. Quitting a habitual addiction when he wasn't exposed to it was one thing, but having it flaunted around in his face left and right would be a whole new challenge, and that didn't even include the fact that there'd be a drink in just about everybody's hand. It'd be tempting enough to take little sips off Teva's if he were to go to bar to get it for her, but someone shoving one at him, demanding he take "just one?" He wasn't going to kid himself; he was liable to crack under the pressure.

The thoughts made him a little more nervous than he had been when they'd stepped into the line. Subconsciously gripping her hand a little tighter, he kept up his reassuring smile but put a very serious note in his tone. "Really. Don't lose me, okay? I need you to be my rubberband."

Rubberband? Shit. Comprehension dawned on Teva's face, and she glanced away as she scolded herself._ Dick move, Teev. Setting him up to fail, however unintentionally._Looking back, she hissed, "I'm so sorry. I didn't even think..."

"It's okay," he hurried to reassure her. "Had to happen sometime, right?"

Flicking her eyes heavenward for the barest fraction of a second, Teva replied, "Yeah, sure, but maybe now isn't ideal."

"Now is better than later," Brandon shot back, adding quietly, "when you're not here."

The thought brought a little twinge to life in her. She shied away from that thought, and had been really successful so far. Leaving, not being there; it was something she was honestly growing to dread. Not that she didn't miss her apartment, her things, and her own friends. But living with Brandon was providing some vital connection to her humanity that she hadn't realized was missing. For the first time in many years, she was actually _living_instead of seeming to simply exist from one adrenaline rush to the next.

The line moved forward gradually, shuffling them to the front. Teva's bag got searched, and she got carded as per the usual. What was it about that? When she'd been under-aged and sneaking into clubs, nobody had ever carded her for anything. Once she'd come of age, everybody insisted on seeing her ID. She wasn't that young looking! The bouncer nearly insisted on patting her down, so annoyed was the look on her face.

With a scathing glance, she crossed her arms and said to him, "Does it look like I can hide anything under this? Geezus, if I fuckin' bend over, I'm gonna flash my cooch."

The guy laughed, as did the bouncer who was giving Ghost a quick pat-down. Apparently, he was familiar with Brandon, and mentioned something about past antics, and new regulations being instituted as a result. She stifled a chuckle.

Glancing at his partner with raised eyebrows, he waited until the other man said, "Just let her in. She's right. Can't hide anything in that get-up."

"Thank you!" she huffed, flinging her arms wide, and taking back her bag from the bouncer.

Of course, she could hide weapons in this get-up if she was really trying. However, for tonight Teva had just slipped her small collection of shuriken underneath the false bottom in the bag. Lead-lined, thank you very much, in case they had body scanners; they didn't, which was awesome. Bluff-your-way-through-with-contraband was a game that she was actually pretty good at. She had very sincere eyes, and as an old acquaintance had put it, she was 'too cute to be bad.' Insert eyeball roll here.

Gliding up the steps, she waited for Brandon to catch up, and checked her bag, tucking her cigarettes in the magical item holder all girls came equipped with-boobs.

Just outside the second set of doors, she leaned close, murmuring in his ear, "Ready?"

Smiling, Brandon pulled her close again with their linked hands, and bent her over his arm for a slow, steamy kiss. People moved around them in the entry, some of them chuckling and making comments about the couple that clearly couldn't keep their hands off each other, not even long enough to get all the way in the club. Teva only heard them as a distant commotion.

She was limp and hazy-eyed by the time he let her back up. With a laugh, he kissed her nose. "Now I am."

"Um..." It took her a minute to kick her brain back into gear. "Okay, great." Laughing sheepishly, she ducked through the door a step ahead of Brandon. They were immediately hit with a wall of sound: talking, laughing, music, drinks being poured and mixed, drinks being slurped. Teva grinned, immediately electrified by all the stimulation. The smells were powerful, a cacophony of contradicting scents-perfumes and colognes, drugs, sweat, hair products, deodorants, alcohol, candy, snacks-so strong that it overwhelmed her ability to distinguish one from the next. She breathed it all in and shot Brandon a smile, waiting to see where he wanted to go first. Better for him to be comfortable. She could wait a bit to dive into the thick of the writhing mass on the dance floor.

Brandon felt immediately at home, and yet lost at the same time as he scanned the club. Where to go first? To the bar for a shot or two of hard rum, then to that little nook off to the right of the stage where someone would pass him a little teal capsule or two, which he'd pop before circling the outside of the floor in search of his club crew, scoping out the girls he might or might not have dared dancing with depending on which direction the drugs and booze took his brain in.

Now he wasn't trying to avoid any memories; he was trying to make one. So back to the question - where to start?

"Uhhh...the bar. We can still start at the bar." He didn't really know whether he was talking to her or himself at the moment. "Yeah, we'll get you a drink and go..."

Purposely avoiding looking in the direction of the little nook, his eyes scanned the club in search of people he wanted to avoid. Spotting some of the old crew chilling out at a little round table on the upstairs loft, he steered her towards a little booth where they wouldn't see him as easily.

Wait, he was already forgetting about the bar.

_Relax. It'll be fine. She won't let you slip._

Doing his best to smoothly cover his little mistake, he tapped one of the wandering servers on the shoulder. "Can you hold that booth for me and my girl?" He slipped the guy a little bit of cred as a tip/bribe for his trouble, and turned Teva back to the bar.

"How are you with tequila?" He had to practically shout as the noise grew louder with more people entering. "This place has a drink called a Time Bomb. You start with that now, it'll hit you later when it counts!"

"'When it counts'?" she shouted back, laughing. "I don't wanna get shit-faced!"

"But," Teva added as they slipped through the crowd, "I'm good with tequila. That's a happy-drunk booze. The stuff that makes me all feisty is dark liquor."

"Good to know," Brandon said as they sidled up to the bar.

Feral slipped in a narrow opening between two people, and flagged down a bartender. The man acknowledged her presence, but indicated she'd have to wait a bit.

A hand rested over the small of her back, as Brandon stepped up behind her, and she thought inadvertently of those people-those _couples_-that were always touching each other in public, seemingly without conscious thought about it, like they just needed to maintain that connection. Oh god, she was _one of them_. What had always seemed to her like a series of behaviors brought on by insecurity suddenly took on new meaning for her.

The shock of it traveled up her spine, and she leaned back suddenly against Brandon's chest. Covering smoothly for the weird moment of almost-epiphany-and no, she was not giving voice to that epiphany just yet; that was something she was going to hoard to herself for the time being until the knowledge stopped freaking her out-she tipped her chin up, speaking near Bran's ear to be heard over the din without shouting. "Are you going to have another coke?"

"I may switch it up and go with a lemon-lime soda this time," Brandon chuckled, though there was a shadow in his eyes as he uttered the words.

Teva gasped, a hand flying to her mouth in exaggerated shock. "Oh my goodness, you wild thing!"

That time the laugh was a little more genuine.

The bartender at their end finally reached them, and Ghost leaned over her to order. However, after he pulled away, but before the man behind the bar top could walk away, Feral flicked her fingers up in an unmistakable gesture of 'over here.' Leaning in, she murmured something quickly, holding up her thumb and index fingers a small length apart to approximate distances.

The man nodded and grinned at her, obviously thinking something along the lines of 'awww, isn't that cute?' (Shut up, she was a bad-ass,_ not cute_!) A minute later he came back bearing Brandon's soda, Teva's time bomb, and after another moment, two double-shot glasses filled with liquid layers of yellow, orange, and red.

She handed one off to Brandon, who shook his head and began, "Teva, I can't-"

Cutting him off, she scoffed, and shot him a dark look. "_Please_, I think I know better than anybody that _you can't_. Like I would steer you wrong. Now open up your mouth, and put this in there." When he hesitated another second, she implored quietly, "Trust me."

Finally, Brandon clinked his glass with hers, and they tipped their drinks back, swallowing quickly. Setting his empty glass down on the bar, he turned to her with a look of surprise and exclaimed, "There's no alcohol in that!"

"I know, moron!" Teva laughed and stuck out her tongue at him. "It's called a Fruitloops. It's just pineapple, orange, and cranberry juice, and a little grenadine!"

His girl was a freakin' genius! Even though there was no alcohol involved, somehow just the action of throwing back a shot made him feel a little more at ease. He'd have to keep that up here and there when he was getting a little antsy.

"See?" she nudged him playfully as they extracted themselves from the throng around the bar. "I wouldn't steer you wrong!"

He led her back to their booth, tipped the server a little more just because he was feeling generous, and decided to give Teva another heart-stopping kiss. Just because he was feeling generous.

A hard clap on his shoulder killed the moment.

"Aye, hombre, let the lady breathe, huh?"

Brandon about choked on his own tongue as he released his hold on Teva, and looked up to see that Nix had slid into the booth across from him. Of course.

"Nix. 's been a while," he greeted with a little nod of his head, his voice ringing with more than a little hostile annoyance.

The Aztlanian sat back in mock offense. "Ouch, man, what's with frigid tone, huh? That hurts! Show a brother some love, man, and some manners. Why don't you introduce me to your lady friend?"

Feral tilted her head to the side curiously as the dark-haired man slid into their booth. He was attractive enough, she supposed, with wavy hair that kind of needed a cut, and full lips that seemed born to grin infectiously set in his coppery skin. His shirt was a little worn at the edges, the nail on his pinky finger a little longer than the rest, which she could see as he raised his beer bottle to his lips, then set it back down.

He was an addict of some kind. Whatever it was, she was willing to bet his favorites were stuff that could be snorted.

His arm tightening around her shoulders subconscious, Brandon nodded and conducted the introductions. "Nix, this is my girlfriend, Te-Sarah. Sarah, this is Nix." He winced when Nix started howling.

"Oh, chica, watch out. He's already forgetting your name," the man chortled.

Brandon tensed next to her almost imperceptibly. Underneath the table, she reached out, sliding her hand over his knee. Teva patted him gently just to let him know that she was alright with this.

"It's alright," she purred, "After what I've got in store for him later, he won't be forgetting anymore." Teva threw Nix a conspiratorial wink. The Aztlanian laughed louder, and said to Ghost, "Ai, papi, she's a keeper."

Both she and Nix chuckled, and Brandon smiled back, beginning to feel at ease with these two parts of his world colliding.

They talked for a little bit, catching up while they waited for the band to come on, the conversation getting a little awkward for Brandon in places when Nix would tell him new information about the drug trades. Apparently the nook by the stage got blocked off as the new policies were set into place, so a lot of items were handed off quickly now either underneath tables or in the same fashion that Brandon had picked up his last packet at the cafe when he and Feral had first met up. There was also some new thrill spot down at the bad end of Venice that Nix wanted to check out after the band finished playing, and was gracious enough to invite Brandon and Sarah along.

"I don't think so, Nix, not tonight," Brandon had declined casually enough.

"Come on, man, just for a little bit. This one's just a game, a capture the flag, none of that dirty stuff." Geezus, the man was practically begging. He must've been having a hard time finding a new partner in crime after Brandon's disappearance.

Feral's interest had sharpened considerably at the mention of _the game_. She was trying not to be overly solicitous of information, at least not in front of Nix, who for the duration of his visit had focused his energies primarily on Brandon, dismissing her almost entirely from the conversation. It was pretty rude, actually, but it gave her time to study the man from beneath lowered lashes.

Foolish, but harmless, she finally decided. Likely to die of an overdose long before age forty.

Just like that, Teva had also dismissed him, with the subtle twist of her legs away from the conversants, and her gaze focused mostly on her drink and at distant points around the room. She watched the other people, taking in the ebb and flow of the crowd. Absentmindedly, she started picking out the biggest threats in the room, plotting exit strategies, that sort of thing.

But the mention of a game had drawn her back to her own table, and the Aztlanian who was clearly trying to tempt Bran into a situation where he'd be prone to reaching out for the comfort of his old friend, _las drogas_.

Then again, a round of capture the flag might be kind of fun... Maybe she'd talk to Bran about it _if she could snag him back from Nix's long-nailed clutches_.

With an exasperated smile and a shake of the head, Brandon leaned across the table a little and said matter-of-factly, "It's _never_just a game. What's the catch?"

Nix shrugged. "Building's still considered a crime scene so the po's watching it close, plus it's old and falling apart and shit, and the flag's up in the attic somewhere."

An attic. Brandon should've drawn the line there, anyway, because it screamed too much potential for a flashback episode (not that Nix would know about that). But yeah, an attic, cops, and the possibility of the building falling apart on them just for sake of playing capture the flag? And doing it completely sober? No.

...Maybe.

His mouth moved before he could shut it up. "What's the prize?"

_Fucking curiosity._

And now the smile Nix was wearing said it was probably something very, very worth it. Or _had_been worth it not so long ago.

"Check it - five hundred nuyen, vouchers for a month's worth of games and drinks at Slapshot, and just 'cause it's supposed to be a challenge or something, Gabe's throwing in another sample of his new line. You try yours out yet? Hits hard and smooth at the same time, and the trip - _aye dios_- blows your fucking mind right up to the moon! Dead serious, Bran, when you get a chance you gotta take a hit of that shit."

Brandon arched an eyebrow. What shit? He hadn't seen Gabe in weeks...

Before he could think more on it the DJ cut the music and began to make the announcement for Teva's band. All thoughts of Nix and Gabe and games and drugs disappeared as he soaked in the look of excitement on her face.

"Hey, you gonna go hit the floor?" he asked, knowing what her answer would be before she even opened her mouth.

Shit, the band was filing out. She turned to the stage, finding inadvertently that she was smiling, whooping and applauding with the rest of the audience. The musicians began taking their places.

Teva slammed the rest of her drink in an impressively long gulp, and reached for his hand, sliding out of the booth. "Are you coming with me?" she wanted to know, though her eyes slid momentarily to Nix, wondering if maybe the temptation had proven too great already. She kept the smile on her face though, wrenching her focus back to Brandon.

"Of course," he grinned, and followed her out of the booth. "Sorry, man," Brandon told Nix.

The other man laughed. "Nah, I get it," he waved a hand nonchalantly.

Before Brandon could say anything more, she was leading them through the crowd to a prime dancing sort that was enough on the fringes that they wouldn't get stepped on, and hopefully far enough away from where the mosh pit-some asshole always had to start a mosh pit, even at the most unsuitable performances for it- would break out.

The band didn't bother to talk at all, just launched into the first song, laden with a driving drum beat from both the kit and a second drum held by one of the band members. "Habibi, habibi boom!" the singer screamed into a microphone, and a cacophony of instruments took over. The song was too fast-paced and the room far too crowded for much _real_dancing. Instead it was the kind of beat that required jumping, arms raised, and quick, isolated hip movements. The only time the song slowed at all was during the bridge when the accordion had its solo. She threw in a long, drawn out stretch in there, arching her back, and bending backwards slowly, then coming up with her arms first, letting them lead her into a quick turn on her toes, fingers poised elegantly in the air in a move she'd imitated watching her mother dance.

And _okay_, maybe she _was_showing off a little bit.

The bridge ended, melding back into the normal tempo of the song, which meant there were more crashing symbols, quickly spat lyrics, and a return to the bastardized bunny hop all over the room.

As the song banged to a close, Teva noticed she'd moved a few paces away from Brandon, and returned to him, hips still moving in circles as she swayed back. "Hi," she laughed, "Sorry, I lost you." Her arms twined around his neck, exhilarated from the dance, and she pressed her lips against his quickly.

Her thoughts returned to the game. Five hundred nuyen wasn't that much, not compared to the paydays they'd scored as 'runners. And free games and drinks? Pft, whatever. The real prize must have been the drugs.

That was kind of sad, because she'd sort of like to play a game of capture the flag. It sounded fun, and it _had_ been awhile since she'd had some _real_excitement.

The vocalist was speaking to the crowd, but she blocked him out. Teva thought it was dumb when bands wanted to have a conversation with the audience. All they ever got in response was wordless screeching. Besides, she was there for the music, not to listen to some little prat blather on about an anecdote only _barely_related to the music.

"I forgive you," Brandon laughed, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

The strains of the next song started, and she wiggled against him. "Alright," Teva's grin was sharp as she threw down the gauntlet, "Let's see how good of a dancer you are."

Brandon smiled and ran his fingers around the brim of his hat slowly as the accordion finished the intro. The music picked up in a steady one-two beat as the singer jumped in, and he hesitated for only a second to get accustomed to the rhythm before pulling Teva closer against his body, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand clasping hers off to the side. He lead her around the floor in a rocking step in time to the beat, occasionally trading off to maneuver her in a tight circle around him or him in a circle around her without ever breaking contact with her, simply passing her off from one arm to the other until they were face-to-face again and back to the rocking stop.

During a musical interlude where the rhythm's pace picked up he backed off and, flashing his eyebrows up at her in a "watch this" gesture, began performing little tricks with his hat. Starting off slow, he merely used both hands to lift it up and down off his head, ducking his body in a comical fashion in time to his hand movements. Then he tossed it in a spin from one hand to the next, catching it on his finger before pushing it up into the air, twisting his body around to catch it behind his back with the other hand. From there he tossed it up again, sending it high enough and at an angle so he could do three impressive spins on his heels to put him under where the hat was falling. He caught it at the end of the third spin and tugged it back down on his head, turning back to Teva with a broad smile only to find the he had distanced himself a little more than he would've liked.

Bad move. Before he could get close to her again he suddenly found himself with an armful of Roxy, the Filipina already working her body against his in her typical sultry fashion.

"Roxy, I-"

She didn't let him finish. "Shut up and dance," she grinned, and tugged him even further away from his date to the point that when he tried to look over his shoulder to see her, she was already lost behind a wall of club-goers. A tug on his vest pocket alerted him to the fact that his current partner had done her usual number of slipping him a little treat.

And with her dancing up against his chest like she was, occasionally sliding all the way down his body and back up, her hands moving over him in that _way_ that she had; and with the music playing with all its enthusiastic energy that got his heart pumping; and the laughter and singing and dancing, people spilling booze here and there on the floor; he found that he really, _really_ wanted that treat.

* * *

**TBC…**


	13. Chapter 13

Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck

Chapter Thirteen

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: R

Warnings: sex, drugs, violence, references to past abuse, depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen and Alex Kade

* * *

Notes: A shortie. This is the final chapter of SDRL. I hope you've all enjoyed it. There will be more of these stories. Alex and I have already finished the next three, which all sort of occur simultaneously. You'll see what I mean.

Don't forget to bug Alex Kade about uploading her Shadowrun stories.

And finally, whether you're a writer or a beta, feel free to stop on by The Beta Branch. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

One minute he was there-she was laughing delightedly, pleasantly surprised to find a partner who could _actually_dance, not just bob in time to the beat-and the next Brandon was gone, swept away in the arms of another woman. She gaped for a second, her eyes trying to search through the thick crowd for where they had gone, but it was impossible to see even with the extra height of her heels.

_Move,_something prodded her.

Teva dove into the crowd in the general direction she'd seen them depart in, scanning for any sign of them.

A hand grasped her shoulder, and she spun, ready to attack.

The woman flinched back, and raised one hand, laughing, "Teva! I thought that was you, but I almost convinced myself it wasn't! What are you doing this far out of N'awlins?"

Forcing herself to calm, she laughed sheepishly, and tugged off her hat to run her fingers through her hair. "Crysta," she acknowledged, "Hey. I was going to come say hi after the show."

"Well, say it now!" the girl shouted back, and tugged Teva into a one-armed hug, the other occupied with a drink.

Teva found herself spitting out a mouthful of chartreuse hair, and iridescent extensions, but laughing a little tensely. Pulling back, she shook her head mournfully. "I can't right now. I've lost my date," she said close to Crysta's ear.

Looking at her, the smaller woman raised her eyebrows, mouthing the word 'date?' incredulously. Then she turned a slow smile onto Teva. "Good for you! Come on," she tugged on Teva's hand, "I know just how to find him."

Without further ado, she found herself being led to the stage. The bandmates, of course, saw Crysta coming, and instructed security to let them through the line. She waited until the song was done, then hopped up on the stage with the rest of the musicians, tugging Teva along with her. Crysta grabbed the mic from the male vocalist, and crowed, "Is everybody having a good time?" A wave of cheers met her question. "Great! For those of you who don't know, I'm Crysta, the _other_vocalist, and sometimes they let me play instruments though mostly I just fuck up the timing for the other players." Applause, laughter, and more cheers met her statement.

"I bet you're all wondering who this little piece is?" Crysta asked, twirling Teva under her arm, and bringing her back to rest against the other woman's chest.

The adept laughed, and tried not to let her face burn with embarrassment as people whooped in agreement.

"This is Teva, and she is _not_ my date, though..." she paused dramatically, and wiggled her eyebrows, "if _her_ date doesn't show up to claim her, I'll happily take her back to my place for a little _comforting_after the show." Crysta pressed her lips against Teva's cheek amid the catcalls and screeches, and purred finally into the mic, "So what do you say, Teva? Gonna come to the dark side?"

With a wink, Crysta adjusted the mic so Teva could speak into it. "Brandon," she chuckled, "Save me from this lech."

The bandmates started laughing, and Crysta faked an incredulous face, spinning away from Teva like she was hurt. Quickly, Teva said hello to the band members she remembered from Esmeralda's last show in New Orleans, and was introduced to the new male singer, shaking his hand.

"So,_ Brandon_," Crysta sighed into the microphone, "If you'd care to come to the front, you may collect your date. That concludes this evening's PSA."

Teva slipped off the stage, letting one of the big, burly dudes working security help her down. She waved her thanks at Crysta, who launched into a sweet, a capella number. One by one the band members joined in with their instruments, creating a slow, romantic vibe in the air.

* * *

Roxy had moved in close, one of her hands moving through his hair as she used her grip on his vest to pull him down to her much shorter height. She smiled at him, revealed to him the little teal pill on the tip of her tongue, and began to move in for the trade off - a pill for a kiss. It was something he'd done a thousand times before and had no intention of doing again, yet for some reason he found himself staring at her lips in longing not for the girl, but for the prize she was hiding. As those lips moved closer to his, his brain screamed for him to back up, tell her to stop, put a hand over her mouth, _something_, but his body refused to obey. That little pill was almost his when...

His head snapped around as whoever was on stage said Teva's name, and then there she was, laughing and calling out for him. With a smile he turned back to Roxy and clasped her around the arms, forcing her to back up a little.

"Sorry, Roxy, my girlfriend needs me," he said with a wink, and left her pouting in the middle of the floor. He had nearly shoved his way to the stage when someone stopped him, yet again.

"Hey, thought your girl's name was Sarah?" Nix asked. With Gabe standing right beside him.

"Nickname," Brandon explained with an easy smile, and tipped his head a little at Gabe. "And she's waiting for me, so I have to-"

Gabe stopped him with a raise of his hand. "Relax, man, she's not going anywhere, and I only want to ask you a question. Nix says you haven't tried your sample yet. Why not? You don't look sick anymore..."

This was ridiculous. Was he not allowed to just have a good time with his girlfriend, without the aid of anything chemical in his system? "Because I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. "What sample?"

"I mailed it to you. Don't you open your mail?"

_The package._With a roll of his eyes, he threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"I'm not taking them, Gabe. I was sick because I was detoxing. I'm done, okay? No more drugs, no more booze, no more bullshit. I just want to get back to my girl." He slapped Gabe on the shoulder as he began to move past. "Thanks for thinking of me though. Good seeing you again."

As he pulled away he found his wrist gripped tightly in Gabe's hand, and he had to refrain from turning around and breaking the man's arm. Now knowing that Teva was apparently friends with the band, he _really_didn't want to do anything that would get them kicked out of the club. Ruining her night was not an option.

Instead, he turned back and smiled at the drug dealer. "I'll give you back your drugs, Gabe. Just let me go."

"I don't want them back," Gabe said in an overly pleasant tone. "I want you to take them. See, I liked that I could always depend on good ol' Brandon for a paycheck. You're too valuable a customer to be lost to a girl."

As he spoke, he slipped his fingers down into Brandon's vest pocket and pulled out the packet Roxy had stashed there. They weren't the simple teal pills Brandon had been expecting. These...strangely looked like jelly beans, all bright colors with little mottled specks on them.

"You will take one. Now," Gabe ordered, dumping the little beans into his palm. Two of Gabe's crew, people Bran had thought he was somewhat friends with, came up on either side of him. Nix stood off to the side looking guilty and a little afraid at the same time. There wouldn't be any help from there.

_Sorry, Teva,_he mentally apologized with sigh.

Before the men could make a move on him, he stepped back and brought an elbow up into one of their faces, then twisted around to quickly punch the other gang member. The man stumbled back into some other people in the crowd, knocking some of them to the ground in an awkward heap. One of the downed club-goers didn't take that too well at all and proceeded to also try to punch the guy, who retaliated violently in return. It was only seconds before a full fight was started, and in the ensuing confusion Brandon bolted for the stage.

"What the hell?" Teva muttered to herself as the fight broke out.

Spotting Teva, he reached for her hand as he took a quick glance back at the growing chaos. "I didn't technically start that," he explained with a little grin as he pulled her towards the exit, "but we should probably get out of here because they're going to blame me for it anyway. Sorry."

Teva had to trot to keep up, he was walking so fast.

At the coat check, she picked up her bag, and turned to Brandon with a very bewildered expression. "What just happened in there?"

"Later," he said anxiously, throwing a look over her shoulder, and hustled her out onto the street, back to the lot they'd parked the car in.

As she buckled in, Teva got a message on her comm, a simple block of text that said: "What the fuuuuuuck? Now I know why they call it LaLaLand. I am _never_coming back to LA for a gig! You ok?" At the end of the message was Crysta's persona, a dancing hamster with a purple, orange, and green mohawk.

She started laughing as Ghost backed out of the parking space, and he asked tensely, "What?"

"Crysta."

"Who?"

"That chick I was on stage with," Feral elaborated.

"Ah."

"She sent me a message. 'What the fuck?' With like five extra u's in it. 'Now I know why they call it LaLaLand. I am _never _coming back to LA for a gig!'" Teva chuckled again. "Oh, man, I love that girl."

"I didn't know you knew the band," Brandon commented idly as he shifted gears, and took some route to get them away from the club as fast as possible.

"Not the entire band," Teva replied while she typed out a reply to Crysta. "I saw them when they first formed, but that was quite a few years ago. Since then, a lot of the original members have left. All that's left from the original line-up is Crysta and Jimmy, the drummer. Crysta and I hit it off immediately. Jimmy's pretty quiet and laidback, but we're cool. The rest? Well, it's like it is any time you hang out with friends of a friend."

Brandon made some noncommittal sound, and checked the rearview mirror.

"We see each other when we can. She's from New Orleans, but because of the band, she's rarely there."

Another noise.

"She's also a raging lesbian, and is really awesome at cunnilingus; I got a toaster from her lesbian club for letting myself be converted," Teva deadpanned.

"What?" The steering wheel jerked ever so slightly as Brandon looked at her, but he quickly corrected the car's course.

She cackled, and purred sweetly, "Just checking to see if you were listening."

"I am _now_," he mock-grumbled.

"So..." Teva drawled, and fished her cigarettes out of her dress, "Two questions: number one, can I smoke in here? And number two, what the hell happened back there?"

"Sorry, just a sec," he answered, checking the mirror again to make sure Gabe's crew wasn't coming after him. Yet.

He folded back the top on the car and nodded at Teva. "_Now_you can smoke." Pressing down on the gas pedal a little more, he kept his eyes on the road behind him as well as on the cross streets as they passed. "Remember that guy at the cafe, the one who palmed me the drugs?"

When she nodded, looking even more confused as she was probably wondering what the hell that had to do with anything, he continued.

"He's got a little more of a crew than the few guys you saw at the table with him. And apparently he's not quite ready to give me up as a client just yet. He made that pretty clear back there."

"And this led to crazy-club-brawl-time?" she asked for clarification.

"Yeah, and now racing-through-the-city-time because he kind of knows where I live. I don't want him starting shit there, getting innocent people hurt. When we get back you get your stuff and we'll go to one of my safe houses."

A thought occurred to him, one that twisted a little knife in his gut, but he had to ask. It wouldn't be fair not to. This wasn't like his uncle, something he could avoid. This was a group of dangerous men he had aligned himself with all on his own; not that he ever thought quitting drugs would apparently be the equivalent of turning traitor to Gabe's gang. Still, he should've known better than to go through that man to get his supply...except Gabe was the best, and the best was what he had craved. Plus, at the time his own safety wasn't anywhere near the top of his list. Hell, it wasn't even _on_his list.

_Fucking drug addict, suicidal fuck, you did this to yourself._

"Or I can take you to the airport," he said, albeit a little more quietly than he had intended. "These guys are serious, Teva. They blame you for me quitting...which is technically true...but I don't want you getting hurt over this shit. Yeah, you need to get out of town. Tonight."

"First of all," Feral drawled as she shook a cigarette out of the pack, "ignoring how fucking irritated I am that you just insinuated I can't take care of myself, why the_ fuck_ would you tell some piece of shit gangers _where you live?_" She took a second to light her cigarette.

Brandon opened his mouth to reply, but Teva railroaded right over him. "Secondly, if it's too dangerous for _me_, then it's too dangerous for you."

Looking annoyed, Ghost went to speak again. She exhaled a stream of smoke while continuing her tirade, if someone speaking in an utterly glacial tone of voice could be called a tirade, but there was definitely a tirade lurking under her calm.

"Finally, we address the fact that you're attempting to shuttle me off to some ivory tower. I have been fighting since I was twelve, training seriously from the time I was fifteen, and 'running by age seventeen. I am not some defenseless _girl_-" Teva spat the word like the worst possible curse, "-in need of protection, and you don't _ever_ tell me what _I_need to do. Am I clear?" As she spoke, Teva's demeanor changed, sliding away from the upright posture and crossed legs to something slouched and lazy, both heels flat on the floor. There was a sense of coiled tension in her, of tightly controlled rage as Feral's thought processes overlaid her own. She became someone else; she became the job, the killer, utterly heartless.

She waited until Brandon seemed to acknowledge her words, but started talking again before he could get a word in edgewise. "Now, the way I see it, you've got two options at this point: you can either leave with me, or we can slink off to a safe house. Just in case you don't quite grasp the subtext here, I'm not leaving you behind with people gunning for you, you stupid fuck."

Feral subsided into silence, smoking and staring through the windshield with cool disinterest, as though everything in her wasn't hinged on what his response would be.

Now it was Brandon's turn to be irritated. If she wanted a real first fight, this was about to be it because he wasn't going to back down so easily, not when her safety was on the line.

"Do you really think I'm that fucking sexist? Really? Since you've been here how many times have I stood by and waited for you to kick someone's ass, huh? Fuck, I've had to straight up ask you to rescue me once or twice, and I did it without feeling the least bit ashamed. You know why? Because I damn well know a strong fighter when I see one, so that's not even a factor here. This has nothing to do with you being a girl or needing protection or not being able to take care of yourself. It's about the fact that you having to be that fighter right now, with this fucked up situation, isn't because you're getting paid for it or choosing to stop some random crime or volunteering to put yourself at risk for some grand worthy cause. You'd be putting yourself in the line of fire because your drug addict whatever-I-am-to-you was careless. And why? You're asking me why I was careless, was stupid enough to tell a guy like that where I lived?"

A bitter laugh escaped his control. "In case you forgot why you decided to make me your little pet project in the first place, I was kind of a fucking mess before you got here. Maybe it was just easier to get my shit delivered when I was lying on the floor wishing I was dead. Maybe I was hoping one of his guys would come in, decide he liked my stuff, and put a bullet in my brain just because it'd be easier to take it that way."

Losing a little bit of his steam, his tone softened some as he continued. "And maybe the thought of you possibly getting hurt over that, for that pathetic excuse of a person I was, it isn't worth it. It's not worth _me_going up against these guys either, I know; and trust me, if it wasn't for Lonnie I'd be on that plane with you, but I can't leave here until he's finished. When it's done I can come find you though; it'll be the first thing I do, but please, Teva, I'm asking you not to get involved with this, not for me. I lo-"

Swallowing, he ducked his head for a second, then decided to go ahead and just get it out. His voice was practically a whisper when he spoke again, all traces of anger completely gone. "I love you too much to put you at risk over something so stupid."

He sped the car up a little more, just wanting to get back to his place, get her stuff, and get her gone as soon as possible before the notion of her actually being gone really sunk in. He'd change his mind when it did; probably resort to genuinely begging her to stay as opposed to his little trid show from last time. Of course, with his little love confession he might have just scared her off anyway, so it might not matter anymore beyond this point.

The part of him that _wanted_ it to matter stopped the air in his lungs as he anxiously waited to see what her response would be. To everything.

Love, Teva thought numbly, the metahuman condition; the saddest facet of their pointless little lives.

_Love_.

The demon whose grasp on one's soul was deceptively sweet, at least until it turned sour and squeezed the heart until it stopped, all the blood flowing out of it like juice from an orange. A blood orange, she thought a little hysterically.

Of course it was for love.

As she flicked her cigarette out of the car, and turned to watch it land on the road behind them in a shower of red-orange embers, it occurred to her that she must love him too. Only love could hurt that much. Only love could make a person so joyful one moment, and so miserable and angry the next.

Teva turned her head back around, and very calmly put her hands in her lap. Her earlier almost-epiphany mocked her. She'd known, but hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, to give that terrifying name to the state of being she suddenly found herself embroiled in.

It must be love, this insane desire to protect, to cling so tightly. It had been so long since she'd felt the emotion, she'd almost forgotten the way it could grip a person mercilessly.

Love was the greatest joke embedded in their DNA. Somewhere up there, some deity was howling at them, at their sickness, at the way love had taken two people and put them at odds with each other.

She loved him so much, she was willing to fight for him, to die for him, to risk it all.

He loved her so much, he was willing to send her away, to fight alone, _to risk it all_.

The fact that their love took such parallel, yet separate paths, made her want to laugh, and she'd have done it maybe if she hadn't been trying so hard not to cry.

They pulled up outside of Brandon's apartment building with a hard stop, and Teva became aware that she still hadn't said a word in response. It occurred to her then that she couldn't; she wouldn't give him those words despite having realized the true depth of her feelings for him.

Because if he died, and she'd given him that last little piece of her heart, she would die too. This way...this way she got to keep that tiny bit all to herself, and it wouldn't hurt as badly. She could wish it away, as she'd done all those years ago. With a certain childish flare, Teva thought that once something was voiced, it somehow became truer, more powerful.

Instead, she gave him this: "Fine, I'll go." It was said quietly, with a hint of defeat in the words. That said, Feral stepped out of the car, and maybe closed the door with a little more force than necessary just to illustrate the point that she was still in a fit of pique. Without waiting, she strode inside the building.

Love was a more dangerous predator than she had ever been; a monster eating her heart up.

"Fine," he said quietly after she'd already gone.

Stepping out of the car as the need for urgency drove him on autopilot, he tried his hardest to find that numb state of carelessness. It would've been better than the rotating emotions taking turns with his heart, trying to confuse him into losing focus on the current danger.

Relief - she'd agreed to go, to be out of harm's way. He wouldn't have to be worried about her getting hurt, or being weighed down by the guilt it would cause, or the loss he would feel if she was _more_than hurt. It was good. Her leaving was good.

Grief - she'd agreed to go, to be away from him. She wouldn't be there to ward away the nightmares, or keep him from taking the easy way out and just giving in to the very person he was protecting her from. He wouldn't see her smile or hear her laugh or feel her soft touch any longer. He would be alone.

Hurt - she hadn't said it back, hadn't even acknowledged the words. It made him wonder if he'd been kidding himself the whole time, if maybe he really was just her pet project, something to do to whittle away the time while she waited for some other man to decide she was worthy of his love.

Anger - at himself for letting her use him like that, at her for playing with his heart so easily, at fucking Red for being too much of a blind idiot that he couldn't see what he was throwing away, that he could hurt her so easily and not even know it, that he was capable of making her feel the same way Brandon did now. How could anyone throw away that kind of gem?

Confusion - at what to do when it was over. If she didn't love him back then it wouldn't be right to go invading her life, interfering in her reality when he was only meant to be the fantasy. What was his role, his place, his final task that would make her happy? Would slinking away quietly to some other corner of the world do it, or did she want him to at least check in so she'd know; should he try to make that blind man see so maybe she had a shot with the right guy, after all?

Hope - that maybe her response was just another shield going up because she did love him back. But did he dare believe that? If he was wrong, if he really was nothing but a project or a rebound, it would kill him to find out the truth. But what if he was right?

None of it mattered right then. What mattered was getting her out, getting her safe. He could take the time to unwind his twisted emotions later when potential death wasn't on its way to his door.

Avoiding eye contact with her as he came in, he pulled out a large duffel and quickly began gathering some of his own things, the important things. His weapons, his journals (both the filled and empty ones), the contents of the cubby under the trash bin sans the cookies he should've just shared with her, the box of bitter memories in the coat closet that he didn't want but couldn't go without, and just a few articles of clothing and overnight necessities. Everything else was replaceable, expendable.

By the time Brandon followed her into the apartment, Teva was mostly packed. Her clothes had been scooped up off the floor, and jammed into her bag haphazardly, toiletries tossed on top. She snagged her journal off the top of the pile as well, though she knew she wouldn't write in it any more. If Brandon died, there would be no need to write. She'd never written for herself, but for him...because he wanted to know her, and she couldn't tell him in any other way than unemotional and detached.

Her eyes followed him as he moved with purpose, gathering the things that meant something to him. There wasn't much. Like her, Brandon lived without much sentiment. Everything she owned served a purpose, but she could replace it all if she had to.

Bran left the hidden present behind the medicine cabinet. That was meant for two people. He wouldn't need it anymore.

And he left the unopened package right in the center of the coffee table as a blatant "fuck you" to Gabe.

"You ready?" he asked Teva, breaking the silence that had settled between them with a question that only required a simple yes or no answer. It was just easier that way.

She'd been standing in the living room, behind the couch. Her jacket slung on over her club clothes, the hat shoved in her bag, and a pistol in her front right pocket just in case Gabe's thugs made it to the apartment before they were able to flee. Watching Bran's back whether he wanted it or not.

"Yeah, I'm good," she nodded, and picked up her bag.

They took the stairs back down to the car, scanning the street for signs of any unwanted visitors before they left the cover of the lobby.

The drive to the airport was very quiet. Solemn. She wasn't sure what to say, so she spent the time purchasing a ticket home.

As they pulled up outside the drop-off loop, Teva closed her eyes against the wave of pain that rose up to try to drown her. A hand covered hers where it finally registered that the sharp little edges of sequins were digging into her palm because she was gripping the hem of her dress so hard. "Bye, Teva."

One second it seemed there was a canyon of space between them, then her lips were on his, arms tight around Brandon's neck. There was desperation in the pressure of her mouth on his, forcing his jaw open, letting her go deep as though she was trying to crawl inside of him; the kiss tasted like sorrow.

She pulled back panting, surprised to find that she had come to her knees in a decision not even conscious, leaning over her bucket seat into his personal space. "I'm not going to say goodbye," Teva said, her voice husky, raw with suppressed emotions. "All I'm going to say is that I'll be really upset if you die...so don't do that."

That hope he was trying so hard not to feel flared up in him with the intensity of an atom bomb, and that made him feel the pain of her leaving that much more. It _would've_ been easier thinking she didn't love him back, that at least one of them could walk away from this with their heart still intact. At the same time though, it made him feel like sending her away was that much more worthwhile, that his need to protect her meant that much more. It also meant he _could_seek her out when he was through, that he had someone waiting for him on the other side of the chasm, something to keep him going after all was said and done.

He let out a little sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but came out more like he was crying on tears he refused to shed. "Dying wasn't really in my playbook, no, not anymore. I'm going to be smart about this, just like you said, okay?"

His hand pressed against her cheek and he used his thumb to wipe away a stray little tear that escaped her control. "And as soon as Lonnie's gone I'm out of here, too. Made too many enemies lately to hang around; it's not safe. But I'll call you. I'll call and maybe we can-" He cleared his throat. "I can tell you where I'm going after that..."

There was a hint of a question in his tone, too chancy to outright ask. He didn't know if he'd be invited back to her world, if something might change between now and whenever he had his shit together. Hell, for all he knew Gabe would find some other schmuck to fill the hole he'd made and just decide going after Brandon wouldn't even be worth it anymore. Then he wouldn't have to leave at all, and then what? Would she want to come back? Would it be too late to ask her to? What if Red finally figured it out and asked her to be his instead? Then what?

Then he'd have to let her go, he supposed. Isn't that how it worked? Something about if you loved something enough you had to let it go, and if it came back that meant it was yours?

...And if it didn't come back?

This time his own desperation took over and he pressed his lips to hers before she could say anything, knowing she didn't want the goodbye but putting it into that kiss anyway. If this was to be their last he wanted it to count.

She was shuddering with suppressed sobs by the time Brandon released her, but she wasn't ready to go yet. Teva hid her face against his shoulder for a moment, drawing the scent of him into her lungs, and absorbing his warmth into her skin. "I-yeah, call me," she whispered hoarsely as she pulled away, and flung herself out of the car, yanking her bag out of the back seat.

Without another look, Teva waved over her shoulder and disappeared through the sliding glass doors. She had to get into the bathrooms, and change clothes to something a little more suitable for traveling. She had to put her pistol in the false bottom of the bag with the others. She needed to...

She looked back out the window, catching a last glimpse of Bran's car as it pulled away.

It was time to let go; time to go home...

Time to go bawl like a baby in the women's room like some fucking cliché, Feral joked to herself while the tears began to slip down her cheeks.

* * *

**-FIN-**


End file.
